Bajka zimowa 1904

Ferdynand Ruszczyc’s ‘Winter Tale’ is like a memory of winter spun in shades of white and charcoal. Imagine Ruszczyc, maybe in a fur hat, squinting at the snow, trying to capture not just the look, but the feel of winter. The paint isn’t trying to trick you into thinking it’s snow, but the strokes—wheezy and wet—somehow nail that heavy silence of a snow-laden forest. I sympathize. Painting snow is hard. How do you make white interesting? But Ruszczyc's onto something here. Those stark white branches aren’t just lines; they’re like ghostly calligraphy against the solid black pond. It’s like he’s writing winter, not just painting it. This reminds me of other artists who wrestle with light and shadow. Think of Caspar David Friedrich's landscapes, but make it winter, and make it graphic. Ruszczyc’s work feels like a reminder that all painters, past and present, are just trying to capture a feeling, a moment, a tale whispered on the wind.