Painting, for Anna Pacholik, is not a medium chosen for spectacle or statement, but a space of listening. Rooted in intuition, silence, and subconscious imagery, the practice unfolds as a meditative dialogue between inner experience and symbolic form. Drawing from surrealist traditions, depth psychology, and poetic philosophy, the work navigates femininity, spirituality, memory, and ecological interconnection through images that resist literal explanation. Rather than illustrating reality, the paintings map internal landscapes — places where emotion, instinct, and imagination converge. This interview traces a practice shaped by reverie, trust in intuition, and a belief in art as a means of integration, reflection, and quiet transformation.

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Art is often chosen as a medium for its freedom. Why do you personally turn to art, rather than another form of expression?

Although in the past I expressed myself through dance, singing, and poetry, it was painting that ultimately allowed me to reveal what is invisible, intuitive, and difficult to articulate. Painting opens a space of pure freedom in which I can transcend logic and directly engage with my subconscious.

Painting has become a personal meditative practice — a state in which ordinary time dissolves and something emerges that I describe as a conversation with the Quantum: a subtle inner field from which images, emotions, and symbols arise. In this sense, art is more than expression; it is a process of cleansing and returning to myself. I bring to the surface what is hidden, intuitive, or unconscious.

This experience is deeply connected to the tradition of Surrealism, which has always been close to me. Artists such as Leonora Carrington, Leonor Fini, Remedios Varo and Toyen showed that painting can be a form of spiritual and psychological transformation — not a depiction of reality, but a map of inner worlds. Their works create the logic of dreams, where rationality gives way to what is symbolic, magical, and multidimensional. This logic resonates strongly with my own.

Philosophically, I am closest to the thinking of Gaston Bachelard, who wrote about the “poetics of reverie” and about imagination as the place where our most intimate experiences are formed. When I paint, I experience precisely that — entering a space where there is no distance between myself and the image. It becomes a kind of inner home.

I am drawn to the thinking of Clarissa Pinkola Estés, who wrote about the ‘wild nature of women,’ about instincts and inner knowledge that emerges from the depths of the psyche, often through images. When I paint, I feel like I am immersing myself in this space — I do not control it, but allow it to guide the process. As in Estés' stories, images become a form of return to instinct, to primal power.

Creating is also a path similar to what Carl Gustav Jung described: an image is born not only from individual psyche but from a deeper symbolic layer that connects us to a larger field of meaning. This is why certain motifs appear spontaneously — women in symbolic landscapes, beings on the threshold between waking and dreaming, organic forms, as if they arise from a place that belongs to more than just me.

Finally, art is a way of integrating my emotions and experiences. Dance and poetry gave me a voice, but painting allows me to pause, enter into dialogue with what is difficult, and transform it into a language of symbols. It is both quiet and intense, intimate and universal. It is the medium that allows me to meet my inner self without rush — and this is why I find true freedom in it.

Does spirituality or a connection to something larger than yourself influence your creative process?

Yes, spirituality, understood not as a system of beliefs but as a deep sense of connection with something infinite, plays a fundamental role in my artistic practice. During the creative process, I often feel that I am crossing the boundaries of my individual “self.” A larger, quieter, yet more intense space appears, a kind of source from which intuition, imagery, and meaning emerge. This experience resonates with what Rainer Maria Rilke described as the artist's need to “mature from within the inner darkness.” It is not about religiosity, but about attentiveness to subtle impulses that are not produced by conscious intention. I often feel more like a receiver than a creator, as if the paintings come to me from a place I cannot fully name.

This is closely related to Henry Corbin’s concept of the imaginal world, an intermediate realm between matter and spirit, where symbols, archetypes, and visions are born. Many of my works arise precisely from this space: not as illustrations of a plan, but as records of an encounter with something that comes “from within.” In practice, I perceive this as a form of guidance: sometimes through sudden images, sometimes recurring symbols, sometimes through intense dreams. I treat these signals as directions. I do not control the process, instead, I trust it, believing that the painting knows what it wants to become. This trust itself is a form of spirituality for me.

My approach also echoes the thinking of Agnes Martin, who believed that the artist does not create from the ego but from a “field of consciousness” where clarity, calm, and truth arise. When I paint, time seems to slow. It is a moment of being part of something larger — something that transcends logic and the everyday. In this sense, spirituality is not an escape from reality but a way of participating in it more profoundly. It is a process of listening to what is unseen, building a relationship with intuition, the subconscious, and that which exceeds individual experience. Art becomes not only an act of creation, but also an act of listening and encounter.

Do you believe an artist's passion is something destined or a conscious choice?

Destiny appears in that first, often elusive moment when Art comes our way, as an experience that soothes the heart, organises the chaos of thoughts and opens up a space that feels like home. This encounter can be sudden, intuitive and deeply transformative. This is what Clarissa Pinkola Estés wrote about when she described creativity as a cry of the soul that we recognise before we can name it.

Destiny manifests itself in moments when art enters our lives like an impulse from a deeper dimension: an intuitive, uninvited, almost dreamlike revelation. This experience resembles what André Breton wrote about — a sudden ‘spark’ between reality and imagination that opens up access to something greater than ordinary experience.

But it was only through conscious choices, made at successive stages of my life, that this intuition turned into a path. The decision to paint, to return to myself, to work despite difficulties, to seek my own truth — all this strengthened my bond with art. At some point, it became not only a space for expression, but also a way of understanding myself and the world. Creativity requires a decision to trust the images that come from the subconscious; to let visions speak at their own pace; to enter into dialogue with the invisible, as Leonora Carrington and Remedios Varo did.

Destiny manifests itself in moments when art enters life like an impulse from a deeper dimension: intuitive, uninvited, almost dreamlike illumination.
Today, I see that my passion is a combination of fate, which brought me to art, and choice, which allows me to live it. This combination makes painting both a necessity and a freedom for me — a place where I can speak most fully and honestly.

How does your art engage with or comment on pressing contemporary issues — social, political, or environmental?

My art addresses contemporary issues on a subconscious level, using visual metaphors, bodily hybrids and organic symbols that operate more on emotion than on declaration. I believe that the deepest social and ecological processes begin in this hidden, inner world, where both fear and sensitivity are born.
In my paintings, the theme of femininity appears not as a figure, but as a physical and mental experience — fragile, fluid, often divided, but full of strength and transformation. The female bodies or forms I paint are not realistic; they are transformed, merging with animals, plants and mythological creatures. This hybridity is a way for me to talk about contemporary femininity, which still has to adapt to a changing world, fight for its place, for freedom and the right to its own narrative. This echoes themes addressed by surrealist artists such as Leonora Carrington and Remedios Varo, artists who used their vision to speak about social enslavement and inner emancipation.

The ecological dimension of my work is also not based on literalism. It is present in the way that humans and nature intertwine in my paintings: human forms become animal or plant-like; the boundaries between the body and the environment are fluid. 

This is my way of saying that the ecological crisis is not something external to us. It is a crisis that is also happening ‘inside,’ in our own detachment from intuition, senses, cyclicality, and the body. In my paintings, I seek a return to the original connection that is too easily drowned out by the present day.
Some of my works also feature themes related to trauma, memory, loss, loneliness — emotions that the modern world often tries to hide or tame with rationalisation. For me, they are part of a larger social landscape. Instead of speaking directly, I create visions in which the social mixes with the intimate, because that is how we experience the problems of our age: through the body, through emotions, through internal images.
I am not interested in moralising or illustrating themes — that is what public language does. The art I create is more like a dream that speaks the truth not directly, but through moods, deformations, aura and gesture. I believe that such images can open the viewer to their own experiences of the contemporary world: ecological, social or feminine.

My art is therefore a form of poetic commentary — critique view that does not shout, but reminds us that what is happening in the outside world also exists within us. If we want to change reality, we must first see the hidden landscapes from which this reality grows.

What do you think is the most meaningful role an artist plays in society today?

Today, the role of an artist is multifaceted and impossible to reduce to a single function — it is as complex as society itself. Each artist plays a different role, resulting from their sensitivity, experiences, visual language and the themes that move them. Some celebrate the beauty of nature, others explore sensuality and physicality, while others comment on politics, environmental issues, spirituality or the position of women in the modern world. There are also those who focus on the medium of painting itself, engaging in a dialogue with colour, texture and form — and this is also an important voice.
For me, the most meaningful thing is that the artist acts as a translator of the invisible. They have the ability to transfer internal processes: emotions, tensions, intuitions, fears and desires, into visual space. In an age when reality is overloaded with information, images and stimuli, the artist does not so much add further messages as draw out what is profound and difficult to express by other means.
An artist can be a commentator, observer, guide, witness, rebel, mediator, but they can also be a creator of space for silence, mindfulness and symbolic contemplation. In a world full of pressure and haste, art allows us to pause and return to ourselves, to what is intuitive and internal.

I believe that artists do not so much tell their audience what to think, but rather offer them images and experiences that open the door to their own interpretations. For me, art is therefore a form of dialogue - subtle, emotional, often non-linear - which touches on socially relevant topics, but filters them through the private, the physical and the subconscious.
That is why the role of the artist in the contemporary world is fluid, dynamic and multidimensional. But one thing remains unchanged: the artist helps us to see — not only the external world, but also the internal world, which usually remains hidden.

 

If you could communicate just one core message through your entire body of work, what would it be?

If my entire artistic practice were to carry only one message, I would want it to be an encouragement: trust your inner voice and be true to what you do, do not deceive others, and especially not yourself.

Throughout my life, I have learned that intuition, emotions and imagination are not weaknesses, but a compass. They guide me through the creative process and everyday life. I would like my paintings to remind others that everyone has a place inside themselves full of light which, if listened to, can transform lack into strength and experience into meaning.

I believe that only by recognising the importance of our inner world can we engage in authentic social dialogue and create a more empathetic reality.

Can you take us through the evolution of an artwork, from that first spark of inspiration to the finished piece?

My creative process begins with silence and empty space, with a white canvas and closed tubes of paint. Before anything happens, I need a moment of suspension, in which I wait for my hand to start working faster than my mind.
The first layer is created intuitively: I reach for colours without a plan, allowing the paint to guide me across the surface of the canvas, without analysing the direction or meaning of my gestures. This spontaneous ‘painting over’ is for me a kind of energetic opening, the creation of a background from which the actual image will emerge later. As with the Surrealists, the real image is born where thought ceases to censor impulse and the unconscious begins to speak its own language.

When the entire surface is covered, the stage of extracting forms begins. Sometimes the shapes appear immediately, other times I see nothing — then I put the image aside. I let it wait as long as it takes: a day, a month, or even a year. I only return when my gaze begins to capture structures, tensions, traces of narrative, when my look captures its inner spirit.

The next stage is to bring out what has begun to reveal itself. I persistently check the relationships between colours and forms, testing whether the composition makes sense, whether it creates an atmosphere consistent with the emotion that arises. Painting becomes a dialogue, I propose solutions, the painting responds.

In this process, painting over is just as important as covering one layer with another. I remove what distracts, what does not resonate with either the composition or the intuitive ‘response’ hidden in the painting. I often go through many iterations, layer upon layer, until the resulting work begins to take on power.

 

Can art be truly therapeutic? Have you experienced its healing power personally, or seen it impact others?

There is broad consensus in scientific literature that artistic practices can have a real therapeutic dimension, both psychologically and somatically. Creativity triggers processes of emotional regulation, supports the integration of experiences, and enables the symbolic expression of content that is difficult to communicate verbally.

Many of these phenomena have already been described by Carl Gustav Jung, who emphasised that images that arise spontaneously, especially those ‘extracted’ from the unconscious through free expression, can serve as a bridge between the conscious and unconscious psyche. Jung described this process as active imagination, pointing out that art allows us to enter into dialogue with the deep layers of the psyche, discover archetypes and work through internal tensions through images, symbols and colours. These mechanisms are largely confirmed in contemporary art therapy.

From a therapeutic perspective, it is crucial that creativity works not only on a cognitive level, but above all, on an affective and somatic level. The process of painting, especially in a spontaneous form, based on intuition and a trance-like flow, reduces stress and promotes mindfulness. Research in neuroaesthetics indicates that creative activities can influence the regulation of dopamine and endorphins, leading to a subjective sense of relief and improved mood.
My own creative practice remains close to this approach. I begin with intuitive gestures that resemble the automatic drawing method used by the Surrealists, but at the same time are a form of dialogue with inner images, as described by Jung. When I allow the subconscious to ‘speak’ through colour, form and improvisation, a process of self-regulation is triggered: from chaos, through the discovery of structures, to the attribution of meanings.

In art therapy terms, this process can be interpreted as a transition from expression to integration. The initial stage of spontaneous gestures releases tensions and emotions that are not always accessible to conscious reflection. The subsequent phases- analysis, extracting shapes, building relationships between forms, correspond to working on organising experiences, searching for meaning and regaining internal coherence.
For the viewer, contact with the image can act as a projective mirror: the viewer perceives their own emotions, narratives and questions in the work, which in itself has therapeutic value.
In summary, both psychological theory (from Jung to contemporary research) and art therapy practice, confirm that art can serve a therapeutic function. It does not replace psychotherapy, but offers a unique way of working with emotions, unconscious content and identity. In my own creative practice, this process is integral: creation not only generates images, but also enables the transformation of experience, mine and that of the viewer.

What kind of legacy do you hope to leave in the art world?

The legacy I would like to leave behind is primarily connected with a deeper understanding of the relationship between the inner world and the image — between mental experience, intuition and memory, and the pictorial form that gives them visible shape. I am interested in situating painting within the broad contemporary humanistic discourse: as a tool of cognition, a laboratory of imagination, and a space in which to explore the dynamics of the unconscious, emotions, and spirituality.

My creative practice remains in dialogue with the tradition of surrealism, but I do not treat it as pure automatism or a gesture of rebellion against rationalism. I am more interested in what we might be called the dialectic of intuition and construction: a state in which an image is born from matter, from the first spontaneous gestures, but its final structure arises through the conscious ‘extraction’ of meanings. In this sense, painting becomes a space for negotiation — between what appears autonomously and what is refined, reinterpreted or transformed.

I would like my legacy to be understood as a contribution to the development of new models of female subjectivity in art. I draw on the post-Jungian tradition, in which archetypes are a living system of meanings rather than static symbols. In my paintings, femininity is not an external, social or ideological category. It is a psychological structure, dynamic, polyphonic, sometimes contradictory, always evolving. Bringing figures, shapes and relations from the unconscious becomes a way of talking about those aspects of female experience that are difficult to capture in theoretical language, but which can be intuitively recognised on the level of the image.

In a broader sense, I am interested in leaving behind a working methodology that shows that art can be a form of research, an area in which intuition, spirituality and experimentation are as important as intellectual reflection. In a world where art is often expected to provide immediate social commentary, I propose a perspective in which the artist's inner world becomes a kind of public space in its own right: not through autobiography, but through the ability of the image to initiate dialogue, resonance and interpretation on many levels.

The legacy I would like to leave behind is therefore both aesthetic and epistemological in nature. I would like my works to demonstrate that painting, despite technological and cultural changes, remains a living medium capable of exploring the unconscious, the subtle, the emotional and the symbolic. That it can be a tool for spiritual and psychological introspection, and at the same time a form of dialogue with the world, its tensions, fears and transformations.

In summary, I envision my legacy not only as a collection of finished paintings, but as a proposal for a way of thinking about art — autonomous, analytical, intuitive and transcending social discourses. Art understood in this way can become a space in which the individual’s inner experience of the individual intertwines with a broader collective consciousness, opening up new perspectives for interpretation and self-understanding..

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Across this conversation, a vision of art emerges not as commentary, but as encounter. Painting becomes a method of attunement — to intuition, to the unconscious, to symbolic language that precedes words. The work stands as an invitation to pause, to enter a space where meaning unfolds slowly and images speak through atmosphere rather than assertion. Through a practice grounded in sincerity and inner listening, Anna Pacholik articulates a path where creativity serves as both inquiry and refuge. The paintings do not offer answers, but open doors — to reflection, to empathy, and to a deeper engagement with the unseen dimensions shaping contemporary life.