Staying with the Spark
I didn’t know how much I had missed this until I was there.
One morning, I was still in Poland, where stubborn and grey winter refused to fully give way to spring. And then, another morning… Italian black coffee, warm in my hands, sunlight dancing across my cheeks, spilling over centuries old stones in front of the Basilica of San Lorenzo.
I moved through streets where art doesn’t just exist, it lingers. As if the presence of artists who came before still moved quietly through narrow alleys and open squares.
Just before the trip, I had reread The Agony and the Ecstasy. Walking there I caught myself wondering if Michelangelo had passed through the same streets, seen the same kind of light falling on great sculptures, sat somewhere with a sketchbook on his lap and a head full of ideas.
And somewhere in all of that, something in me woke up.
A Spark I hadn’t noticed dimming slightly over the past couple of years spent working mostly by myself at home, began to return.
It was the same feeling I had years ago, when I first arrived in Barcelona. That sense of countless possibilities unfolding. Of being surrounded by beauty, movement and history layered into everything around. A kind of quiet, creative electricity in the air.
It’s where I feel most like myself. Like I belong.
Days filled with conversations that stretched long into the nights. Sharing thoughts, doubts and ideas with people who understood without explanation. Working side by side, absorbed in the same kind of pursuit.
I hadn’t realized how much I missed that too.
Eight days passed the way they tend to when you’re fully immersed inside something wonderful – too quickly.
And then I was back in Kraków, sitting at the airport with an overpriced coffee, not quite ready to step outside and let it all go. Trying almost desperately to hold onto it – the places, the moments, the memories, but especially the feeling.
To crystallize it before it faded.
I made a quiet promise to myself then, not to let that Spark dim again.
Because along with it, something else had re-appeared. A question I couldn’t quite shake:
What if…?
It’s the kind of question easy to dismiss, brush under the carpet of daily rush, known habits and responsibilities. But those questions are where the possibilities begin to unfold and the change happens.
*
The days after I returned felt slightly out of sync, as if part of me was still elsewhere, among the artworks, the conversations, the shared rhythm of it all.
Back home, everything was quieter.
In the mornings I wrote. Not with structure or specific intention, just pages with questions I kept returning to. What would you do if there were no obstacles? No expectations, no practical limitations. If money, time, fear, none of it stood in the way.
And when the words began to blur, I turned to drawing.
Portraits and graphite, my cozy place. The familiar rhythm, slow and repetitive gave me something steady to return to. A way to stay with the feeling a little longer, without needing to define it too quickly.
I had done the same before leaving for Florence, almost without thinking. Back then, it felt like grounding. A way to calm the nerves.
But now it felt different. Less like preparation and more like holding onto something. Like staying in that in-between, before things take shape, before they are named.
Portrait studies of Ania and Pamela, my Slavic muses.
Both works were developed from my own photographic references. Over time this personal archive naturally grew into a collection of references I now share with other artists.
Not long ago I wrote about the feeling of moving through a kind of fog. Taking steps one at a time without seeing too far ahead.
In some ways I’m still there, but something has shifted. The Spark I felt in Florence didn’t give me all the answers. But it made something visible again.
And I’ve been thinking about how easily those moments slip away. How quickly we move on, return to our routines and let them fade before they have a chance to take shape.
Maybe it’s simply about noticing when something lights up and giving it a bit more space before letting it go. Who knows what it carries, or where it might lead.
For me, it became the merging slow graphite rendering with written thoughts. A way of staying with those feelings a little longer. The kind that fill us with blissful warmth and make our hearts expand. Not rushing past moments that quietly light something inside us, but sit beside them for a while. Observing. Listening.
For someone else it might take entirely different form. A walk at dusk, tending to flowers in the garden, cooking for loved ones or playing music.
But I think we all recognize those quiet Sparks when they appear. Let them stay, even just for another moment, before world asks to move on to the next thing.
I don’t know where this leads yet. But I’m letting it unfold in front of me, following one step at a time. And somehow I feel it’s leading somewhere special.
This unforgettable Florence experience would not have been possible without the colaboration and generosity of amazing artists and friends. Special thanks to Steve Chmilar who traveled all the way from Canada to teach an inspiring workshop on Imaginative Realism, and Giannina and Martha who run Studio 10 for opening their beautiful space and hosting this special event.
Thank you for being here and walking alongside me through all these unfolding chapters.
Marta
Recent Comments