In Meadow, Jędrzej Bieńko extends his atmospheric poetics to a broader, landscape register. Across the three joined canvases, a soft veil of pigment diffuses like mist, blurring edges and dissolving contours. What first appears as a pastoral scene gradually unsettles: grasses, stems, and blossoms emerge not as fixed forms but as shifting apparitions, suspended between visibility and erasure.

The composition resists the clarity of landscape painting. Instead of offering a stable meadow, Bieńko renders a threshold—an environment that seems to breathe, tremble, and waver in perpetual transformation. Plants appear less as botanical specimens than as spectral presences, hovering between material and immaterial states.

As in much of Bieńko’s practice, Meadow explores porousness: between body and environment, vision and hallucination, memory and dream. The work captures not the meadow as it is, but as it feels—fragile, mutable, almost remembered. In this way, the triptych becomes less a picture of nature than an atmosphere of becoming, where perception itself is unsettled and the viewer is drawn into the quiet, melancholy drift of forms.