In the open air, I sketch in order to preserve the atmosphere, composition, colours, and essence of a given place. In the studio, I never use photographs of a place, nor do I try to recall the specifics of the landscape.  I only refer to what is on the canvas. Sometimes it is a few lines, a patch, a colour, or a composition sketch; sometimes it is a nearly-finished painting.

A sketch is the first (raw) thought, and at the same time, my final comment on a given moment and phenomenon. It is not treated as an initial or indirect form, but as a destination.

The most difficult thing is to look at the emerging picture hundreds of times, as if one is seeing it anew -- critically and analytically. The work in the studio serves the purpose of "silencing", to make the picture acquire absolute consistency. The softer and more sparing the means, the more harmonious it has to become by the end.

It is difficult to decide when the picture is finished. Improvements can last forever, but the curiosity of the next canvas wins over perfectionism. The moment of farewell is when I paint my signature and describe the painting. I always draw two combined letters -- MŁ -- with a palette knife. Their colour, size and shape must match the entire representation. I want them to be subtly visible, and minimalist.

The reliability and form of a painting's description is of great importance to me. It is like calligraphy, drawing each letter with great accuracy, in the grey that remains on the open air. I like this process of drawing word by word, dotting over and over a finished work:  name, surname, title, year, place. The last of these is essential to me. It represents a symbolic return to the open air, where it all began.