In Henry James’ "The Portrait of a Lady," the main character, a young, beautiful, and intelligent American woman ponders her life options. These options were quite limited at the end of the 19th century, boiling down to marrying well, basically. However, our female protagonist is in no hurry. She wants to see the world, see new people, and, above all, see into herself.

Hanna Krzysztofiak's new series is an intricate portrait of a modern lady. Despite being modern, she is a painter, quite an obsolete trade these days. She can play the piano to boot and throw a tantrum just as well as she can jump for joy. As befits a true lady, she owns a horse too. Not a literal horse really; rather it’s the imaginary embodiment of the creative force – untamed, a bit clumsy, victorious at one time, destructive at another. The horse adores beauty without shame, detests shoddiness and bureaucracy, is easily startled but always returns. It is extremely important to the lady. This story, or should we say, this portrait, recounts the horse's escapes and the adventures the two have had, be it together or separate.

Henry James's novel serves as a pretext to liberate both himself and women from the constraints of long-standing male narratives that have defined them. The simplest solution seems to be through independent and honest self-reflection. Yet, given the simplifications and prejudices inherent in male literary depictions of women, female narrators are justified in using untruths when speaking about themselves. In Hanna Krzysztofiak's "Portrait of a Lady," the genuine self-reflection meets an even more captivating fairytale of the power of personal fears, passions and untapped potential.

While reading James today can make for quite a sore experience due to the patriarchal Zeitgeist of the bygone era permeating his work, Hanna Krzysztofiak chooses to occasionally adopt his patronizing tone so she can have an outside view of herself. The fear of making decisions and facing their consequences carries an egotistical and immature quality, and is something difficult to be overt about in real life. Krzysztofiak lures this dread into her paintings,  so she can expose it, crush it and mock it. She throws herself under the bus to spectacular effect and definite outcome. So the artist and her alter ego, Napoleonka the Mare, smoke cigarettes by the window and openly express their disdain for the group of Wojtkiewicz-esque monster children playing outside. There’s no doubt they wish them ill, although one day they might regret their arrogance. In another painting, the Mare sits in an awkward pose and stares at a flower blankly, while an epic battle rages right behind her horseback. What a loser. Taking part in the battle might bring some rewards after all. In yet another work, the focal point is a set of dentures – no doubt belonging to the artist, shuddering at the prospect of living a lonely life and dying a lonely death, as well as undiagnosed bruxism. She could flip her fate today, but first things first, she must finish this series.

This part is about fear and self-deprecating humor. But the portrait of the lady is more complex. In truth, the lady is quite content with her daydreamy, creative nature. What she fears the most is not the loneliness, but that Napoleonka – the embodiment of passion and refusal to accept fruitless compromise – might escape. To her, the Mare is beautiful, and the moment of solitary admiration of a simple flower is more precious than even those prestigious battles she is invited to join. Ultimately, her greatest fear is that when she dies, Napoleonka - the most favorite part of herself - will die too. And if their creative work isn’t appreciated by others before then, all this creative solitude will be all for naught, and no one will mourn their disappearance, devoured by ants.

The lady/artist's greatest wish is not to give a flying fig to what others think, or even to what she sometimes thinks of herself; just to be like that character from the "Indian Summer" painting; a laid-back female peasant with dirty feet who, apart from being genuinely happy about herself, knows how to chill and stop thinking about work or goals in life.

A recurring theme in Hanna Krzysztofiak's work is the room of the primary narrator. Wooden floors, dirty walls (perhaps from cigarette smoke) and low ceilings. These are the artist's "quietest" paintings. The austere rooms, with their thin walls shielding against the outside world, are surprisingly comforting and cozy, like a weighted blanket. Perhaps the artist’s subconscious shapes them in such a way that staying inside feels like the only reasonable choice. The beautiful landscape outside the window or the enfilade arrangement stand for the possibilities the lady in James's novel never had. Today, she might not even want to pursue them, were it not for societal pressures and the age-old burden of stories written by men about the curse of female autonomy.

Exhibition in collaboration with Cobalt Space