MICHAŁ WRĘGA (SEPE)

Do you remember the moment when painting stopped being just a passion and became something more – something that could become a way of life?

Yes. There comes a moment when you have to make a decision – whether painting remains just a passion pursued “after hours,” or whether you devote all your time and attention to it, turning it into a way of life – also professionally. For me, that moment came in 2009, after my first solo exhibition in Warsaw, at the now-closed Viuro Gallery.

On a daily basis, you paint both murals and studio works. What determines whether a story is told in public space or on canvas?

There’s no universal rule here. Designing a mural definitely involves more variables and technical or logistical constraints. You have to take into account the scale, the type of “canvas” surface, available time for execution, equipment (like the kind of lift), and your own physical endurance. I work on authorial murals, usually created as part of various art festivals or grassroots initiatives. While these are often bold organizations, it’s important to remember that a mural is created in public space—and not everything can be smuggled into that space. In the studio, such limitations don’t exist.

Do you feel that certain themes keep coming back in your work – sometimes even unintentionally?

My painting journey has lasted nearly 30 years. Despite the many stages along the way, I remain fascinated by storytelling. I treat painting as a kind of journal—loose notes from my journey and reflections on the world around me. Sometimes it’s a bitter commentary, sometimes sarcastic or grotesque, and other times a subtle record of an encounter or relationship. Illustration and figuration are the common visual language, along with a certain theatricality and grotesque character. A sense of staging. Themes like masks, costumes, role-playing… these are motifs that indeed circle back and reappear in different forms.

What does your work rhythm look like? Do you have any rituals or a way to get into the painting mindset?

I treat painting as a full-time job. That’s why it’s part of my everyday routine. I don’t follow fixed working hours, but I do try to maintain a steady daily rhythm and consistent time in the studio. Of course, there are good days – when creativity flows and I feel energized – and slower days when that spark is missing. But there’s always something to do, so I use that time for administrative and technical tasks like catching up on emails, editing photos, documenting artworks, priming canvases, or buying materials. And when those low-energy days stretch out too long, the best mental reset is a solid ride on my bike.

There are paintings that seem to “paint themselves” – and others that resist every step. What do you do then?

Yes, that does happen sometimes. Usually, the paintings that come together effortlessly and smoothly are the ones I consider my best. Everything just seems to synchronize during the process – a good mood, genuine curiosity about the subject, fascination with the act of creation, and even surprising myself along the way. It all just flows. A painting created in this way feels both fresh and light, yet powerful in its expression. It’s a great feeling, and I wish every work could be made like that. Unfortunately, that’s not always the case. Sometimes there’s what I call “resistance from the material” during the process. That can mean different things – sometimes a lack of proper planning, not thinking through the stages of work, or not feeling fully convinced about the subject, the composition, etc. Something was forced, or humility was missing – it was supposed to be quick, smooth, and dazzling, but suddenly you’re on shaky ground. Every move makes things worse… In those cases, it’s best to let the painting rest (or rather, let us rest from each other). You can come back to it after a while with a fresh idea for changing a part of it, or go for a complete revolution – cover it entirely and start deconstructing it with bold gestures. Some of my favorite works were born that way.

Have you ever created something very intuitively – without a sketch, without a plan – and only later realized what it was really about?

A large part of my paintings comes to life exactly this way. I start with an underpainting. The process is dynamic and intuitive – driven by gesture, expression, spontaneous brushstrokes, building up textures, pouring paint, rubbing surfaces. STOP. That’s the moment when something interesting begins to emerge from those abstract forms. The painting starts to speak. It begins to tell a story that is already hidden within. You just have to bring it out – extract the context from all those textures and spots, carefully sculpt the details within them, discarding what’s unnecessary and highlighting what matters.

Do you have a dream location in mind – a wall, a building, a context – where you’d love to create a piece someday?

I don’t have a specific list of dream locations, but from experience, I know that I enjoy working the most in places where muralism is still something new and fresh. One of the most memorable experiences was going to the Philippines, where I independently organized walls to paint in a poorer part of Manila. Establishing that first contact with the building owners, earning their trust, and convincing them to agree to something completely unfamiliar was quite a challenge. But once I started painting, the atmosphere changed—it became a bridge, creating warm and genuine interactions with the local community. I had similar experiences in Cambodia, Kyrgyzstan, Georgia, and Armenia—places where street painting was still surprising and unexpected, and where people felt more gifted by the experience than shocked or overwhelmed by it.

What does contact with your audience/fans mean to you? Do you ever wonder how your work is received, and does it influence the next ones?

Studio work is solitary work. Paintings—and especially series or cycles created for solo exhibitions—take a long time to complete. They are made in focus and isolation from the audience. I think that’s the best way to express exactly what and how I want to convey. Making the work public—through exhibitions or social media—is a moment of verification and confrontation. Let’s be honest here—every artist is a bit of a megalomaniac, a bit of a narcissist, and a bit of an egocentric. We like being praised, complimented, showered with hearts and likes, while strong criticism can clip our wings. Feedback is valuable, and a little ego boost is pleasant, but it shouldn’t permanently influence further work. Opinions differ and often change. I have no control over that. Many of my paintings—the way they’re made and the quality I strive to offer—reach people with a delay. My task is to remain independent, honest, and authentic in what I do. To work in harmony with myself. To enjoy the process and the exploration of the unknown. To stay curious about what’s waiting around the next bend. To offer the highest-quality creation I’m capable of at any given moment.

What tools do you feel most comfortable using in the studio? Do you have any favorite techniques, tricks, or perhaps even unusual instruments?

Acrylics, oil paints, and of course spray paint—which holds sentimental value from my past “graffiti” days.
In addition to those, I use all kinds of props and tools, even household items, guided by the principle that “you can paint with anything.” It’s all about achieving surprising and unpredictable textures and forms.
Among my pile of experimental instruments, you’ll find everything from brooms, sponges, trowels, and putty knives to car wiper blades and a garden sprayer.

You often say that “a human is perfect in their imperfection.” How does that belief influence your work?

Painterly technical skill is important to me — refined detail, carefully considered color, and attention to making the composition work in every formal aspect. But equally important is imperfection: spontaneous gestures, expression that’s not entirely controlled. All the scratches, flaws, small mistakes, and apparent missteps give the work authenticity and uniqueness. They bring a personal, unmistakable character to each piece.

When you look at your older works – do you ever feel like changing something, or do you prefer to leave them as a testament to that particular moment?

Of course, after some time I can see many flaws I’d like to correct. Some paintings I’d repaint completely – or even cover up entirely 🙂 But each painting is like a page from a calendar. It’s a record of a moment, of how I saw the subject, color, composition, or even my technical skills at that time. It’s a part of the journey, and everything should be left just as it is.

What challenges do you find the most creatively stimulating today – formal, thematic, or perhaps simply logistical?

As a studio painter and muralist, I essentially operate in two distinct realms – the quiet of the studio and the open urban space. The studio is an intimate setting, isolated from external distractions. It allows me to fully focus on the painting, refine my technique, hone my skills, and experiment with various methods and media. Studio work gives me the opportunity to deeply explore formal aspects such as composition and color. In contrast, creating murals is a much more dynamic process. The controlled environment of the studio is replaced by a multitude of factors like changing weather conditions, logistics, wall location, and the urban and cultural context of a place. The large scale requires significant physical effort, and the time available for painting is often limited by weather or equipment rentals, such as lifts. There is also an in-between space – abandoned buildings – somewhere between the studio and the buzz of the city. These places, while remote and quiet, offer a kind of dynamism absent in the studio. Their atmosphere fosters exploration and allows the artwork to exist within a broader spatial context. In my view, such locations hold the greatest potential, combining the focus and quality of studio work with the unique presence of site-specific context.

What would you say to young artists who want to follow their own path but aren’t sure if it’s worth the risk?

Unfortunately, there are no universal rules or guaranteed paths to success in this field. What worked for one person may not work at all for another. There’s no certainty that talent, hard work, and full dedication will be enough. The only thing you can be sure of is this – if you stop trying, nothing will happen for you.

And for you – at the very beginning – what helped the most? People, the place, a lucky coincidence… or simply persistence?

A bit of everything, especially in the later stages of this journey. But in the beginning, it was mostly persistence. Stubborn persistence 🙂

Thank you, Michał, for this honest, insightful, and down-to-earth conversation. And if you’d like to see how it all translates into paintings – we invite you to explore our gallery of prints by Michał “SEPE” Wręga.