Glimmer

To kiss the mountains on the cheek Kornel Leśniak’s latest exhibition is devoted to examining the relationships between human and non-human beings, as well as the non-living elements of nature. Speaking about his new works, Kornel says: !We no longer live in nature,” stating what may seem obvious. We separate ourselves from nature; moreover, in our boundless arrogance, we seem to believe that we are capable of managing without it. Neither the seasons nor the climate play much of a role in shaping our way of life—unless we are being afflicted by natural disasters. We no longer recognise the scents of individual plants or the smell of the earth. As humanity, we generally perceive nature as a threat, because we approach the entire natural world according to a deeply ingrained conviction that it should be subordinate to us, to humans. Today, however, we can see the devastating effects of this anthropocentric attitude—echoing the biblical injunction to !subdue the earth.” What remains truly wild now constitutes only a small fraction of life on Earth: a mere 23% of the planet’s land and 13% of its oceans, while wild animals account for only 4% of global biomass. We relentlessly destroy flora and fauna because we treat them as inexhaustible sources of materials. For human beings, only that which can be exploited and put to use seems to matter. Yet Kornel does not stop at these bleak observations. He finds hope in the fact that the current crisis has made us more aware of the mutual connections and entanglements between different forms of life. He sees no clear divisions between them. Rocks, plants, animals and humans are connected by invisible yet extraordinarily powerful bonds. Nothing lives independently, even if it is unaware of this. Kornel sees beauty in these connections. He uses aesthetics to tell stories about a world that is disappearing, yet still continues to exist. At the same time, he remains aware that nature can still be immensely powerful. His narratives are built around examples drawn from one place in Poland where alpine nature reigns supreme: the Tatra Mountains. Kornel sees both their terror and their fragility. Their towering peaks can enchant us with spectacular views and wild nature, only moments later to disappear into the clouds, vanishing before the hiker’s eyes and leaving them lost among the rocks. Kornel follows the paths travelled by both animals and humans. He wonders what will become of them, what will happen to the old trails if they disappear as a result of climate change, erosion and the passage of time. New ones will certainly emerge—but who will trace them? Animals making their way to a watering place? Climbers establishing new routes? Tourists searching for ever more views and attractions amid a natural world barely clinging to life? Kornel also turns his attention to plants whose habitats lie in the high mountains. One example is rosebay willowherb, which has recently enjoyed its fifteen minutes of fame thanks to Instagram. It is a striking yet common perennial, forming vast swathes across mountain meadows. Interestingly, willowherb is a pioneer species, among the first to colonise damaged land. It grows near human settlements, on abandoned pastures and on burnt ground, enriching the soil before eventually giving way to other, more demanding species. We can therefore be fairly certain that willowherb will not disappear so quickly in this era of mass extinction. A meagre consolation? Perhaps the only one we have. The tiny primrose, which grows abundantly in the Tatras, will probably survive for similar reasons: its inconspicuousness. It is easy to overlook, even though its flowers are enormous in proportion to the rest of the plant. Kornel’s attention has also been drawn to the ominous phenomenon known as the Brocken spectre. A person standing on a mountain summit may see their own greatly enlarged silhouette projected onto the clouds. According to superstition, this optical phenomenon foretells inevitable death— unless the omen is reversed in time. The beauty that nature continues to bestow upon us without asking anything in return reigns supreme in Kornel’s paintings. The subtle sheen of their backgrounds recalls the shimmer of a frozen surface of snow, while the colour gradients in his paintings take on the pale tones of a bitterly cold day—or, conversely, an intensely hot one. Views of mountains, paths, flowers and sky seem to vanish from the surfaces of his canvases, their outlines and colours gradually losing their clarity. As though, in the very process of fading, life itself were disappearing from the surface of the Earth. One thing is certain: the world will survive. We do not know in what form, but beauty will remain with it.