Mentored by Dorota Jarecka, Katarzyna Kołodziej-Podsiadło and Karolina Plinta
I belong to one of the first generations not to look to the future with hope. The future is no longer flying Ferraris, but rather burning forests and melting glaciers. When we talk about tomorrow, we think about the planet’s future, but do we worry at all about the future of human sensibility? Yes, we talk a lot about being open to others, especially in the arts. However, all I need to do is look at my phone and I see evidence of a coarse society – people are even bothered by children in public spaces. Before we know it, another group is stigmatised, and then another. We already know what might happen next from history. The deluge of data is killing our sensitivity and poses severe challenges to cultural institutions. Designing their programmes in circumstances so rife with social antagonisms is not an easy task. This is why the curators of the 2024 show Tears of Joy at Warsaw’s Zachęta, among others, have posed fundamental questions such as ‘For whom and how should exhibitions be created?’ But why were tears being shed at the National Gallery?
Tears of Joy was the largest presentation of works from the Zachęta collection to date. Taking on the role of cunning sociologists, the exhibition curators conducted an experiment to test how contemporary audiences would react to works from the past that used to provoke widespread discussion, or even scandal. Interestingly, contemporary artists were also invited to participate in this experiment, as the curators asked them to interpret and comment on specific works from decades gone by. For example, Katarzyna Kozyra’s Pyramid of Animals was counterpointed by a performance by Elwira Sztetner and Katarzyna Lewandowska that invited viewers to reflect on animal rights.[1] Meanwhile, Artur Żmijewski’s Singing Lesson 2 was referenced in Daniel Kotowski’s video installation SIGNING/SINGING, and Paweł Żukowski’s Public Appearance provided a commentary on Mikołaj Smoczyński’s The Secret Performance.[2] These are just a few examples of the juxtapositions present throughout the exhibition, which illustrate how the depiction of animals and the representation of minority groups in art has changed over the last three decades. The dialogue between visitors, participating artists, and their works was so lively that, at times, I could almost picture a rumbling hammer and a judge calling for order. Thankfully, no one seemed to care.
The voice of the present was also very evident at Tears of Joy, both in the rich performative programme that accompanied the exhibition and the choreographic interventions provided by Alka Nauman. The latter included objects that enabled viewers to experience the show comfortably (one could appreciate it lying down, sitting or standing) as well as a set of commands and questions on the walls that encouraged visitors to engage with the works through their bodies and emotions. However, as a typical Polish woman, I confined myself to discreet exercises in smile gymnastics.
Walking through Tears of Joy was like exploring the human body. The head was the ‘Hall of Memory’, displaying well-known examples of Polish Critical Art.[3] These works evoke the strongest associations with Zachęta’s recent history and have prompted strong reactions from the public. Many of the following rooms invited a visceral, even muscular, perception. In Uklański’s towering fabric, for example, one could find a suggestive image of the human throat, while Erna Rosenstein’s biomoprhic painting Source seemed to bubble with vitality. However, the rooms, branching out like limbs, addressed not only the body, but also emotional states, including difficult and elusive ones. Despite its misleading name, Oskar Dawicki’s video Tears of Joy evoked not only elation and relief, but also tears of despair, tensions and invisible wounds that will never heal.[4] In his striking 2005 performance – centred around a video projection shown on Zachęta’s façade – Krzysztof Wodiczko restored the voice to people whose troubling stories, including those of domestic violence, are rarely told aloud, let alone in public. The emotions emanating from such pieces were intense. However, a sense of grounding was restored by the works forming the exhibition’s ‘feet’, which reflected on existential self-awareness and death – including Katarzyna Kozyra’s Rite of Spring.[5] The interest in transience, the fragility of the body, harm, pain and rage linked the works from many years ago with the recent ones, despite the grim overtones. I consider this to be the exhibition’s real triumph and the source of its beauty. Through Tears of Joy, Zachęta showed that despite our differing views, we are ultimately connected by shared experiences.
Upon entering the show’s greatest room and viewing the flagship works of Katarzyna Kozyra, Zbigniew Libera and Artur Żmijewski, among others, I must admit that I felt as though I were visiting a museum. This was probably because I had encountered these pieces during my studies as examples of Polish contemporary art, and here they were, unexpectedly, all together in one place. This peculiar mode of perception was heightened by the somewhat pretentious nature of the exhibition’s media promotion (thankfully, unlike in the videos, there were no oraganised groups clapping rhythmically in the exhibition rooms). Suddenly, Zbigniew Libera’s Intimate Rites – a video depicting the artist caring for his ailing grandmother – violently pulled me out of the disassociated, museum-appropriate mood. Confronted with the artist’s calculating behaviour, I was surprised to read the accompanying description, which stated that the film ‘represents love, devotion and sacrifice’. This positive evaluation of Libera’s actions was inconsistent with how the work was displayed: the television screen was turned towards the corner of the room as if trying to hide the semi-conscious woman’s exposed crotch.
Another ambiguous piece was Katarzyna Kozyra’s long-durational performance, during which she simply took up residence in the Zachęta gallery for a few weeks. The message about feeling safe in an art space was compelling. However, the idea of domesticating the workplace is eerie and potentially harmful. Furthermore, through this simple act, Kozyra has effectively appropriated a national cultural institution. What impact does this have on younger artists, and how does it reflect on Zachęta’s long-term rapport with them? The abundance of Kozyra’s works in the exhibition reflects Zachęta’s historical commitment to showcasing the work of select, accomplished artists. At the same time, however, Kozyra’s newest work makes the institution’s proclamations about openness and equality in art seem like an afterthought. I suppose cultural institutions are not obliged to provide a space for every creative mind. Young artists flock around every opportunity to support their career development and yearn for financial security, as most young Poles do. Once again, a room of one’s own has become a romanticised luxury (Virginia Woolf would be wringing her hands). It is time to stop championing great individuals and, in turn, to live up to slogans about freedom and equality by giving a larger group of makers a chance. Support should be given not only to newcomers, but also to those who were overlooked in the past.
Despite my reservations, I remain very positive about the exhibition. Tears of Joy pays tribute to Zachęta’s notable past activities, delivering a series of visceral blows in the process. I left feeling mentally battered, but also exhausted and grateful, as it had been a long time since an exhibition had moved me so intensely.
Perhaps the eponymous tears of joy represent the invigorating catharsis that Zachęta has endured. Anyone who has ever cried has experienced not only physical relief, but also a sense of temporary peace. When tears are shed, there is a moment when the future feels nonexsistent. Then one has to blow their nose, wait for the swelling around the eyes to go down, and only then will visions of what is coming emerge. Zachęta stands at a crossroads and has not yet fully envisioned a new beginning because it must first take stock of the recent upheaval. While someone might point to the recent change of authorities as the source of the tears, the answer to the question, ‘Why are there tears at Zachęta?’ cannot be so narrow. The true tears – the ambiguous ones – might be flowing because in-depth reflection has returned to the National Gallery of Art and we have hopefully said goodbye to simple political shock tactics.
Translated by Arkadiusz Półtorak
Lidia Tańska graduated with a master’s degree from the Faculty of Sculpture at the Magdalena Abakanowicz University of the Arts in Poznań in 2025. She is a scholarship holder of the Minister of Culture and National Heritage (2020). Participant of national and international exhibitions.
Her mentors were:
Dorota Jarecka is a Polish art historian, critic and curator whose work focuses on modern and contemporary art, visual culture and the social history of art. She is affiliated with the Institute of Literary Research at the Polish Academy of Sciences (Instytut Badań Literackich PAN) and has published widely on topics ranging from Surrealism and the neo-avant-garde to documentary and curatorial practice. From 2016 until 2024 Jarecka served as director of Galeria Studio in Warsaw. Earlier in her career Jarecka worked as a journalist and critic (including a long spell at Gazeta Wyborcza), organised programs and workshops at institutions such as the Museum of Modern Art in Warsaw, and collaborated on curatorial and editorial projects. She is the co-author/co-editor of books and catalogues, notably the monograph on Erna Rosenstein (Erna Rosenstein. Mogę powtarzać tylko nieświadomie) and publications on post-war and contemporary Polish art. In recognition of her contributions to art criticism, Jarecka was a recipient of the Jerzy Stajuda Prize for Art Criticis in 2011.
Katarzyna Kołodziej-Podsiadło is an art historian, curator at the Zachęta – National Gallery of Art in Warsaw where she curated or co-curated among others The Potential Histories (2024/2025); The Tears of Joy (2024); Two arts are better than one (2021); Rechowicz/Smaga. Cirle (2019); Money to burn (2016); Victor Man. Zephir (2014); THE ARTISTS. Visual artists’ concerts and sounds projects (2013-2016); Hools (2012). Her curatorial approach is characterised by attention to how exhibitions can function not only as displays of artworks but as devices for generating new dialogues — often incorporating performance, sound, and participatory elements in the gallery space. Her projects have also provided critical takes on Polish and global art histories.
Karolina Plinta is an art critic, editor-in-chief of the magazine ‘Szum’ (together with Jakub Banasiak). Author of numerous texts on art, since 2020 host of the podcast ‘Godzina Szumu’. Winner of the Jerzy Stajuda Art Criticism Award (for the magazine ‘Szum’, together with Adam Mazur and Jakub Banasiak). Her writings have appeared in major Polish cultural publications and she has also contributed to educational initiatives focused on art careers and professionalization of artists. Her interests include performative arts, institutional critique (especially engaging with how art institutions work and fail), gender in art and feminist perspectives.
[1] Editor’s note: Pyramid of Animals (1993) is a sculptural installation featuring taxidermied animals arranged vertically (horse, dog, cat, rooster) accompanied by a video documenting the slaughter of the horse. Inspired by the Brothers Grimm’s Bremen Town Musicians, the work critiques human involvement in industrial slaughter and the normalization of death in the food chain. The work sparked significant controversy in Poland regarding ethics and the use of animal bodies in art.
[2] Editor’s note: Singing Lesson 2 (2003) is a video registration of a performance orchestrated by Artur Żmijewski. Participants who are deaf are included in the performance, highlighting issues of communication, exclusion, and accessibility. Meanwhile, Smoczyński’s photographic series The Secret Performance (1983-1993) documents changes of urban spaces in late-communist and post-1989 Poland.
[3] Editor’s note: Polish Critical Art refers to a generation of artists who emerged in Poland in the 1990s after the post-communist transformation. The movement is characterized by provocative, socially and politically engaged works that critique institutional structures, authority, and the relationship between art and everyday life. Key figures include Katarzyna Kozyra, Artur Żmijewski, and Zbigniew Libera. Zachęta – National Gallery of Art was closely involved with this generation, providing exhibition opportunities and public platforms.
[4] Editor’s note: In this piece, Dawicki presents a looped image of his face streaming with tears that defy gravity, flowing upward instead of downward. The work is accompanied by music composed by Paweł Mykietyn.
[5] Editor’s note: Rite of Spring (1999–2002) by Katarzyna Kozyra is a video installation inspired by Igor Stravinsky’s ballet Le Sacre du Printemps and Vaslav Nijinsky’s original choreography. Using over 12,000 photographs and stop-motion animation, Kozyra created the illusion of continuous movement, reinterpreting the ritual of sacrifice through an experimental visual language.
