In tandem with Łukasz Stokłosa
In tandem with is a regular short interview series with interesting artists and art people.
This month, we spoke to Łukasz Stokłosa, a Polish painter whose first UK solo exhibition opens this week at Rose Easton. Stokłosa’s paintings are haunted with nostalgia, exploring the layers of meaning carried in objects and spaces. Mixing the heritage of gay camp with the influence of Old Master painting, Stokłosa confronts the spectres of the past. Stokłosa trained at the Academy of Fine Arts in Kraków and has exhibited throughout Poland, as well as in the US and in Vienna.
Where do you find inspiration?
Everywhere, actually. I try to stay open and pay attention. Popular culture is a brilliant
source of inspiration for me. It could be an Instagram reel or a sentence I come across
in a book. Then my memory works as a kind of a filter, holding onto certain themes and letting others fade. Over time, this selection shapes what really matters. From a single impulse, I start to build a broader context, and the story gradually unfolds. What
fascinates me most is this layering of histories, the way contexts overlap and echo each other. That’s probably why I’m so drawn to historical objects. They allow multiple meanings to resonate.
Take, for example, a 16th-century suit of armor. It can open up countless narratives: about the person for whom it was made, about the social roles imposed on us from childhood, about the beauty of craftsmanship, or even about how the object lives today and why it still captivates us. It’s a bit like Pandora’s box and a cornucopia at the same time. For me, such objects work a bit like Proust’s madeleine, they spark a story, they trigger memories and impressions. Often inspiration arrives by chance, but sometimes it’s more deliberate, through research or a study trip to see a place with my own eyes. Searching for inspiration can feel a lot like detective work.
What is the best gift you’ve ever given?
A Lego set. Recently, for my birthday, I received a Lego set identical to the first one I ever had. It was a camping set, a little house with red walls and a yellow roof. A bit of a sentimental journey.
What are you bored of?
To be honest, the most boring task for me is cleaning. I’m a terrible mess-maker.
Still, I like to think there’s a kind of order in my chaos. It’s probably because I live and work in the same space, so there’s always something more interesting to do than vacuuming.
What’s something giving you hope right now?
At the moment, it’s nature. A walk in the park is a perfect way for me to take a break
from work. It can also be very inspiring. Contact with nature gives me perspective, and the result of that perspective is hope. It puts everything in its proper order. Observing processes on a micro scale gives me faith that there’s still a chance, that not everything is lost. So perhaps my answer to this question wouldn’t be what gives me hope, but rather what gives me peace. Hope is a kind of byproduct of that peace. I also find hope in art or rather, in the creative process itself. The very act of bringing something new into existence feels like a gesture of hope.
What’s a mistake you’re glad you made?
I cherish the mistakes I make while painting. For me, it is essential to accept them. A mistake in a painting can become a signature, something that distinguishes it. It keeps me from slipping into repetition. In my video works, error is almost a theme in itself: repetition, overlapping images, sound that feels more like noise than a soundtrack. In my paintings, there’s also the error of memory: sometimes I realise I’ve remembered a subject or detail differently, and the question “why did I remember it this way?” becomes its own source of inspiration. The imperfections, an uneven brushstroke, a line scratched into the paint is often what interests me most. Sometimes, I even introduce them on purpose: a blot that hides part of the composition, or a horizon that’s slightly tilted. To me, mistakes are also the human trace in the work, proof of presence. These disharmonies are the contrasts I seek.