There is no color here. No gradients, no shortcuts. Only ink, paper, and the decision to look closer.

Stanisław Łanica works within radical constraints — black and white, hand-drawn, unmediated — and finds within them a universe of tension. His subjects are women, though "subjects" feels like the wrong word.

They are presences. They carry ravens and cats, stars and bad thoughts, longing and the quiet before catastrophe.

They do not pose. They exist, indifferent to being watched.

What makes Łanica's work unsettling is not darkness — it is intimacy. Each drawing is a closed room the viewer has wandered into uninvited.

The gaze, when it appears, does not welcome. The body, rendered in thousands of deliberate dots and lines, holds its secrets with the same density as the shadows surrounding it.