Natchnienie                                    Polish

The root of the word is the same as the one used in the Bible for the creating breath of God. This points to the possibility of interpreting the source of inspiration as supernatural. In any case, it must involve the force like that of a breath: the root of natchnienie runs through many words, and the common denominator of all of them is “a breath”:

tchnienie – a breath
westchnienie – a sigh
wytchnienie – a rest (=a time to take a breath)
odetchnąć – to be relieved (= to exhale)
 
There is an obvious link between inspiration and art: the latter does not come into being  without the former. Inspiration may be triggered off by the senses – the sight or sound of something often inspires those who are receptive to the world around them – but it is not only a link between what we perceive and how we react to it. It does involve the soul, this outstanding faculty which has set man above all other creatures. The vision of an artist comes from within, and is often shaped before he ponders it in his mind.
 
To be inspired also means to be touched by something or someone: a new awareness rises and presses for action, and hence for a change. Heeding one’s inspirations leads to a greater sensitivity, until all precious things are brought to light from the depths of commonness.

Inspiration has been a permanent adornment of my life, speaking in a powerful voice both in my homeland and during my many journeys around Europe and the United States. I often allowed myself to be led into creation, because I am in love with the English language and its ways of expression. Yet all the poems and prose passages that thus came into being were never to be read, unless written as a present for a dear friend. So with time I began to abbreviate my welcome of inspiration to moments of thought or to monologues of my inspired self. It was a tormenting decision, but I could not afford to spend time writing only for my own pleasure – and I still have not found any means of publishing my work.

Sometimes, however, it is impossible to resist the power of inspiration. For me, the dangerous time begins at twilight, when the skies in the West are still burning after a sunny day, but the Earth is calmed, breathes slowly and prepares for rest. As the night comes, it becomes harder to stay away from the window. These enchanting moments finally found expression in a short poem. Attempting to explain how difficult it is to abandon the contemplation of the night, I headed the piece with two lines from William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. It seemed appropriate because my sentiments were much like Juliet’s ardent and overwhelming love. This prompted the linguistic twist to the poem: Night could also be read as Knight. There are other instances of ambiguity throughout, such as a different reading of some verses in stanzas one and two, discovered only by taking the focus off the spelling and pronouncing the words slowly aloud.

Whenever I survey the night, recalling Emerson’s Nature and the way he spoke about the stars, I know I am looking at a wonder that has for too long been treated as a commonplace. I like to open the window a little, especially when it is cold outside, and to breathe in the fresh, still relatively clean air. It always brings to me a sense of freedom, a wish for adventure, a passion for the beauty of Nature. It was this breath of night air that made me feel like a lover of those sounds, colors and aromas, half-personified and half-scattered in velvet darkness. A lover unfulfilled, with longings never to be satisfied.

HIS NAME IS NIGHT

‘Good-night, good-night! Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say good-night till it be morrow”
                                William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

O Night, your garments radiant
            with the twinkling embroidery of star
                        race guard your divine shapes
                                    from my restless eyes. I scan,
 
examine the impenetrable; I stand
            to reach deeper than touch, to feel
                        the essence of the inexpressible,
                                    I stake my all. I am drawn to you
 
like a Juliet: I stretch my arms
            into darkness, yearning for a warmth
                        of an embrace; I neither wish to leave
                                    nor do I know how to cease
 
drinking your breath once
            it has cooled my face. You whisper
                        something to me through the leaves
                                    of trees; I shiver and lose myself,
 forgetting I am only a human.

Inspiration visits me so frequently that it is difficult to remember the first time I felt it in a powerful way. I am often inspired by historical films to research the background of the events they portray; music, which carries innumerable images and feelings, lies behind many of my drawings and poems; every day, people's faces or their words offer a symphony of emotions to a keen observer. Most often, however, my inspiration comes from Nature, and if I am to recall one of the first instances of being inspired, it will undoubtedly be a moment spent in the presence of woods, fields, or mountains.

I will never forget one early spring years ago, when the view from my window grew more and more beautiful almost as I watched. Looking to the west, in front of me I have a small valley, lined with a crest where the woods begin, and filled with cottages in tiny gardens. Almost all proprietors have at least one fruit tree on their plot of land. I do not know where my eyes had wandered before, but that spring I could not move them away from the valley. The trees seemed to be dressing up as if for the celebration of their wedding, every day, no, nearly every hour adding new laces to their rich white gowns. In a few hours they filled the entire valley like brides in a rush of preparations. Some could even be seen straying in the gray, still bare woods, attempting in vain to find a green branch to adorn their garments.

All this was happening right before my eyes, like an enchanting real-life movie, with the sweet uncertainty of what would happen next. Suddenly, a treacherous morning brought fierce rain. With a howl it began to snatch the brides one by one into a wild dance, tearing their dresses at every turn. In a couple of hours the brides stood naked, with dark arms  raised to the sky in silent despair. It was an overwhelming spectacle. The fruit of my fascination with it was a song I wrote then, The Brides of Spring, and a lower grade in biology, which I was in those days studying for an exam – but everything has its price, and preserving those moments by framing them into words was certainly worth the sacrifice.

Interview Questions

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	Edwin: I was wondering what you think this painting: Natchnienie malarza, by Jacek Malczewski, means? Kelly: Escaping into fantasy was typical of Malczewski. With age, he also grew increasingly fond of symbolism (which as a trend in European art emerged at the turn of the 19th century). Many of his paintings contained personifications, at first glance strange and unclear, but after some contemplation revealing much that one could relate to. "Natchnienie malarza" is, I think, typical of such works: the female figure seems to represent the sitting painter's thought, intricate almost beyond imagination, a tangled blend of ideas that storm the artist's mind. In a moment of vision, he sees it all but at the same time realizes how imperfect a tool he is, attempting to express his intense feelings. This sudden awareness is like a blow dealt by Despair.
Natchnienie malarza, Jacek Malczewski, Muzeum Narodowe, Kraków
Gorzki chleb.  Jacek Malczewski 1899.
BOZE NATCHNIENIE
Natchnienie  - a more abstract painting.