In 1973, a new graduate of Saint Martin\u2019s School of Art made what might have been considered a rather odd career move. Instead of continuing to train at the modern facilities in London, Andrzej Klimowski \u2013 the London-born son of two Polish migrants \u2013 decided to move to communist Poland and study at the Warsaw Academy of Fine Arts. It helped that Klimowski\u2019s first language was Polish and that he\u2019d already spent a few lazy summers with family friends in Poland. But nonetheless, he was making a conscious decision to study at a school with fewer resources, under a political system that censored the arts and culture.
If you\u2019ve ever seen a Polish film poster, you might understand why Klimowski moved to Warsaw. He was drawn in particular to Henryk Tomaszewski, a Professor of Graphic Arts at the Academy of Fine Arts and one of the key figures in the Polish School of Posters. While Western theatre and film posters were focused on the images and names of key actors, Polish graphic designers combined symbolism, humour and painterly aesthetics to create vivid interpretations of their cultural subjects. This unique approach thrived under a communist system. Censorship encouraged the use of visual metaphors; diminished resources demanded a more creative approach. Most importantly, cinema screenings and theatre productions weren\u2019t incentivised by the free market. This meant that Polish posters had no commercial role \u2013 designers could instead indulge their own artistic inclinations. If this all sounds a bit abstract, have a look for yourself \u2013 here\u2019s Wiktor G\u00f3rka\u2019s poster for Carbaret, Bronis\u0142aw Zelek\u2019s poster for The Birds, and Jakub Erol\u2019s poster for Alien.
Klimowski\u2019s work is distinguished by his use of photocollage and images of his family, as well as his obsession with faces, eyes and demonic likenesses. One of the first Klimowski pieces that I saw was his poster for Omen, featuring a photo of his son\u2019s body with a gargoyle-like monster perched in place of his head. Shortly before the Omen poster, Klimowski had designed a mysteriously evocative poster for Chinatown and one for Nashville, the latter of which was awarded a prize by the Hollywood Reporter. This led to a deluge of commissions for the artist, including his now-iconic posters for Taxi Driver and The Godfather Part II. After returning to the UK in the 80s, Klimowski continued to create images in his idiosyncratic style, notably a series of Milan Kundera book covers, as well as an anti-racism poster and the most recent poster for the Kinoteka Polish Film Festival.
Back in the UK, Klimowski was forced to deal with the demands of the free market, where the dark voyeuristic dreamscapes of his creations were not necessarily as desirable as they had been in communist Poland. The same can be said for contemporary Polish graphic designers, who no longer hold the same social capital or employment prospects as Klimowski and his peers did. This is immediately clear in present-day Poland \u2013 although some theatre posters maintain bold aesthetics and a hint of allusion, it\u2019s all too common to see commercial film posters that simply foreground key protagonists\u2019 faces or popular actors\u2019 names. Nonetheless, I have the overwhelming feeling that Poles are proud of their design history. Just last week, I saw Witold Dybowski\u2019s 1984 poster for Return of the Jedi on a \u017boliborz caf\u00e9 wall. Among the vintage shops of Krak\u00f3w\u2019s Kamizierz district, it\u2019s easy enough to spot classic reprints for sale, such as Wiktor G\u00f3rka\u2019s Hunting in Poland poster, originally designed in 1961 to promote tourism to the country.
This pride is reflected in the new generation of Polish artists who continue to make posters in the older style. One of the most successful modern designers is Ryszard Kaja (whose father Zbigniew Kaja was a member of the Polish School of Posters). The younger Kaja makes myriad posters \u2013 notably, this Godzilla-inspired design for a film night of \u2018Japanese Monsters\u2019 \u2013 but his most prolific and well-known work to date is \u2018Posters from the series POLAND\u2019. This series consists of 120 designs depicting towns, tourist destinations and classic symbols of Poland. Some posters straightforwardly present landmarks; others play with the names of places and the images they might evoke. Before I met the red squirrels of \u0141azienki Park face-to-face, I\u2019d already seen them showering on Kaja\u2019s \u0141azienki (which also means \u2018bathroom\u2019) poster. Nicolaus Copernicus is given a fitting astronomical tribute on the poster for his hometown, Toru\u0144. All is bared on the poster for Cha\u0142upy, Poland\u2019s most famous nudist beach.
Ryszard Kaja\u2019s extensive series may be ubiquitous across Poland, but it\u2019s not the only form that contemporary Polish posters take. I once visited a caf\u00e9-cum-gallery in Wroc\u0142aw, which coincidentally had a poster exhibition on. Sipping at my coffee, I couldn\u2019t take my eyes away from the red sheet with a silhouette of Joaquin Phoenix\u2019s character from the 2013 film Her (plus the tiny pair of legs in his pocket). The graphic designer in question, Maks Bereski, was born in 1989 and is consequently a generation further from the original Polish School of Posters than Kaja. Regardless, his \u2018Plakiat\u2019 project endorses those same older techniques of metaphor and striking visual simplicity to reimagine (primarily English-language) film posters. With 174 posters to date, there\u2019s plenty of Bereski\u2019s work to enjoy. I\u2019m particularly fond of his design for The Neon Demon, but his recent poster for Jurassic Park: Fallen Kingdom is an excellent example of the multiple meanings and enticing visuals he creates.
Earlier this year, Netflix actually commissioned Bereski and a handful of other Polish artists (namely Anna Goszczy\u0144ska, Dawid Ryski, Jan Kallwejt, Justyna Fr\u0105ckiewicz and Tymek Jezierski) to design posters for some of their exclusive films, including Okja, Mudbound and First They Killed My Father. Although the streaming service decided not to use the designs, it shows the enticing draw of Polish poster aesthetics for those in the West \u2013 from Klimowski in the 70s, to Netflix today.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
In 1973, a new graduate of Saint Martin\u2019s School of Art made what might have been considered a rather odd career move. Instead of continuing to train at the modern facilities in London, Andrzej Klimowski \u2013 the London-born son of two Polish migrants \u2013 decided to move to communist Poland and study at the Warsaw […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":80,"featured_media":697,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"inline_featured_image":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[129,19],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-696","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-100-2","category-blogs"],"yoast_head":"\n