In the autumn of 2019, Marcin Osiowski’s exhibition Art on Art took place in the centre of Warsaw, organized by HOS Gallery. On a November night, on the eve of Independence Day celebrations, someone trespassed on the property and vandalized eighteen canvasses from the series 100 Flags by spray-painting the statement “Jude Raus” onto them and drawing a picture of a gallows. Osiowski did not close the exhibition. He commented on the incident at a meeting with his audience. Remarkably, the exhibition – consisting of a two-storey space filled with nearly 200 works – made almost no reference to Jewish culture, with the star of David featured only once, and not very noticeably at that. 

Osiowski, an artist known for his ironic approach, self-distance, and sense of humour was confronted with what he had openly defied since the beginning of his artistic career.
 
Polaks Cultuur Agenda was staged during the pandemic in the artist’s private space. Each word in its title comes from a different language: English, Flemish and Danish, all of which the painter came into contact with over the years. “Polak” is a universally used ethnic slur. This is how Americans disdainfully referred to Polish construction workers in the 1980s, and this is what Germans used to call car thieves.

The exhibition asks questions about the position of visual arts in the consciousness of the Polish public. It is a commentary on the reception of contemporary paintings by viewers who are expected to be equally contemporary, but are not always so. Osiowski wonders whether these two modes of contemporariness are equivalent to one another. He looks at the popular imaginations of “the Polish spirit”. The paintings contain references to the newest forms of patriotism and ways of celebrating national holidays, such as the Polish Independence Day of the 11 November. The artist reflects on the definition of culture and mocks the current Polish government’s peculiar enthusiasm towards disco polo, the popular Polish genre of kitschy dance music.

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The key to understanding the first series of works, entitled A1-C5, is a photograph of an empty wall after the removal of the destroyed paintings. The painter mapped a cartographic grid onto it. The empty wall and the remnants of spray-paint were thus turned into abstract, minimalist compositions. Osiowski  had read about a model of human lungs, made out of pollution-absorbing material and exhibited in front of a hospital. Its creators would watch it as it went grey. Osiowski covered his canvasses in the absorbent and exposed them to city air. “Warsaw air is plenty polluted, but there is something more dangerous than particles of smog floating in it: hatred” – he remarked.

The other series presented at the exhibition are screen-printed images on traditional, rustic fabrics. Hand-woven rugs or a blanket patterned like folk embroidery evoke associations with the Polish rural home. In the 1990s, Osiowski bought a secluded country cottage. At first, he felt at home there, but in time, rumours turned the local inhabitants against him. Soon, on the wall of his barn, Osiowski found obscene words encouraging him to vacate the property. He decided to sell the cottage. He packed a folk tapestry, table runners and bedspreads with traditional patterns. On the fabrics, he then screen-printed fragments of Robert Łukaszewicz’s photographs depicting the participants of the Polish nationalist annual mass event called Independence March. The masked individuals in Osiowski’s paintings defend their “fatherland” and “the purity of Europe” by holding flares and banners with offensive slogans in their hands. Their resemblance to fascist militias and their aggressive postures are unsettling. The halos represent their sense of untouchability and impunity.

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This series also includes free interpretations of popular folk motifs. Osiowski purposefully takes away their definition by blurring their shapes and contours. Among floral patterns, the attentive observer will notice visual tropes associated with totalitarianism. In the grim painting entitled The 11 November, fantastical and frightening apparitions can be seen. Another work, also entitled The 11 November, is painted on a red folk bed spread. On it, Osiowski has screen-printed a photo of two Independence March participants: one copy in black and its mirror image in white. The composition bears a chilling resemblance to famous, or infamous fascist symbols, although in fact none are present in the painting.

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Vamos Poloniae! is the kind of play on cultural references which Osiowski likes to engage in. The second word refers to a nineteenth-century Prussian propaganda story meant to discredit the Polish national hero Tadeusz Kościuszko. Here, Osiowski makes a comment on the long history of fake news and the authorities’ attempts to smear heroes who dare speak truth to power. The first part of the title, ¡vamos! is the signature battle cry of the Spanish tennis player Rafael Nadal.

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The titles surprise the viewer by their absurd disconnection from the imagery in the paintings. This is a reference to Polish state propaganda. Osiowski has also included fragments of lyrics for disco polo songs which promote the “traditional” objectification of women, hostility towards foreigners, and general complacency, thus reflecting the current Polish regime’s idea of the “Polish spirit.”

By juxtaposing original folk fabrics with images of the contemporary Warsaw street, Osiowski looks at new “Polish patriotism” and the self-appointed defenders of Polish freedom who vandalize Polish streets on The Independence Day.

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Polaks Cultuur Agenda addresses the official propaganda’s silence around disturbingly frequent and compromising acts of racism and xenofobia. The same propaganda favours art with a Catholic base, and a right-wing superstructure. Or the other way around.

Osiowski’s exhibition leaves its viewer with a question: Can art be a litmus test for tolerance and civil maturity?

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Katarzyna Piskorz, fragments of the curator's text for the exhibition "Polaks Cultuur Agenda"