Uniwersytet Rzeszowski
Centrum Dokumentacji Współczesnej Sztuki Sakralnej
pl. Ofiar Getta 4-5/35, 35-002 Rzeszów
tel. +48 17 872 20 98

Krystyna Czerni

Kraków, Uniwersytet Jagielloński


One of the most popular saints, St Francis, canonized in 1228, remains “ecumenical”, venerated also by the Eastern Orthodox Church. The saint of Assisi proved especially important for the spirituality and art of the Kraków-based avant-garde painter and Eastern Orthodox thinker, Jerzy Nowosielski, who lamented that the Western Christian consciousness had completely flattened the main ideas of the saint, reducing them to naïve sentimentality. Turning back to St Francis, the artist hoped for a renewal of Christianity and the revival of contemporary theological thought. Important elements of the Franciscan tradition in Nowosielski’s art show up in his so-called Franciscan crosses: polychrome images of the crucified Christ of the croce dipinta, croce storiata type, modeled on the San Damiano Cross. Nowosielski painted dozens of such crosses, both for liturgical purposes (to fit at the top of an iconostasis or a tetrapod), and for private devotion. The figure of St Francis also appeared several times in his monumental art: the polychromes in the churches in Olszyny (1957) and in Zbylitowska Góra (1956–1957), as well as in the mosaic entitled The Stigmatization of St Francis produced for the church in Izabelin near Warsaw (1980); these, however, have not survived to the present day. His most interesting and elaborate “Franciscan” project is the interior of the Reformed Franciscan Church of the Immaculate Conception of the Holy Virgin Mary in the neighborhood of Azory in Kraków, harking back to the canon of Reformed Franciscan churches: the Stations of the Cross and the large altarpiece. These works combined the spirituality of the icon with avant-garde esthetics; the artist also infused them with iconographic motifs from the Eastern Orthodox tradition: the Mandylion (used twice), the theme of Anastasis, the Orant, the Plashchanitsa serving as the last Station of the Cross (Jesus is laid in the tomb), and the images of the three convicts in scenes of the Passion, alluding to the Eastern Orthodox worship of the Good Thief. The multi-eyed depiction of the Seraph is rooted in an earlier, Byzantine angelological iconography; the stigmatization of St Francis, in turn, is modeled on 13th Italian iconography but also on the image of St Francis as seen in the stained-glass window produced by Stanisław Wyspiański for the Franciscan church in Kraków at the turn of the 19th and 20th century. The elaborate symbolism of the retable of Azory combined Franciscan themes with motifs of the Eucharist and the Passion, drawing profusely on the Eastern Orthodox tradition; thanks to its concise and ascetic form, as well as its audacious colors, it took on a truly monumental dimension.

Keywords: Jerzy Nowosielski, Franciscans, contemporary icon, St Francis, Kraków, monumental painting, Stations of the Cross


“Whatever became of St Francis?”, Jerzy Nowosielski pondered in an interview with Zbigniew Podgórzec. “Even in his own lifetime, his basic ideas were all distorted… His conception of a non-ordained community without a monastic rule, governed only by the precepts of the gospel, everything was stood on its head already in his lifetime. […] Today, his message has been reduced to naive sentimentality. […] the elements of St Francis’s mystical experience have been completely neglected”.[1]

To this day, St Francis of Assisi remains one of the most popular saints; in the 20th century, he entered the realm of popular culture, becoming a cult hero of novels, films, operas, and musicals. He has gone down in history and legend as the most attentive listener of Christ’s teaching (Alter Christus), a rich youth who encountered Christ and, unlike the hero of a well-known biblical parable, did not go “away sorrowful” (Matthew 19, 22), but abandoned everything for the sake of a poor and humble life. Our fascination with St Francis seems rooted in the perennial human longing for simplicity and freedom from money, material possessions, and institutions, as well as our need for a life attuned to the rhythms of nature.

St Francis was canonized as early as 1228 and remains one of the ecumenical saints; he shows up in the liturgical calendar of the Lutheran and Anglican Churches and is likewise venerated by the Eastern Orthodox Church. The important and revolutionary nature of his ideas, which combined poverty and charity rooted in a mystical bond with the suffering Christ, was a recurring theme for Jerzy Nowosielski, who often underlined the spiritual affinity between St Francis of Assisi and the most popular Eastern Orthodox saint, St Seraphim of Sarov, the last to be canonized before the revolution of 1917. The Eastern Orthodox priest and poet, Jerzy Klinger,[2] the spiritual master of Jerzy Nowosielski, was a great worshipper of both St Seraphim and St Francis. An icon depicting St Seraphim of Sarov hung over the deathbed of Nowosielski until the very end; years earlier, he had already found “far-reaching and elaborate analogies in terms of worldview and religion between these two mystics, so distant in time and space”.[3]

The figure of St Francis made several appearances in the monumental sacred art that Nowosielski created for the churches of the Roman rite. As an Eastern Orthodox artist working in Catholic temples, Nowosielski preferred to depict the saints of the first millennium, active before the great schism, and thus to emphasize the shared Byzantine tradition of both Churches. Hence, his multi-figural hagiographic images featured, alongside the prophets, kings, and priests of the Old Testament, characters such as apostles, evangelists, fathers of the Church, monks and hermits of early Christianity, as well as the common believers and martyrs of the first millennium.[4] And yet, St Francis (1182–1226) proved especially important to the spirituality and art of this Kraków-based painter and thinker. According to Nowosielski, Western Christian consciousness has “completely flattened” the central ideas of St Francis’s message, including his “absolutely special attitude toward the natural world, particularly that of animals”. Turning back to the saint of Assisi, the painter hoped for a renewal of Christianity and a revival of contemporary theological thought. “I believe,” he said, “that our approach toward the animal kingdom, the blind spot, the barren territory that the Christian experience leaves us with in this field, is one of the primary reasons for the crisis of Christianity in the Western world”.

Important elements of the Franciscan tradition in Nowosielski’s art show up in his so-called Franciscan crosses: polychrome images of the crucified Christ, accompanied by scenes and figures of the Passion painted on additional planks along the vertical beam. A cross of this kind, also referred to as an Italian cross, or Italian Passion, features in the literature of the subject as croce dipinta, croce storiata.[5] The oldest preserved icon of this type is the famous San Damiano Cross (2nd quarter of the 12th century); St Francis himself is reported to have prayed before it. In the past, croci storiate would be found at the top of the altar partition in medieval Italian churches, and their meaning and symbolism were thus described by Nowosielski: “A Franciscan cross is simply an Italian image of the Crucifixion, placed at the top of the Italian iconostasis. The Crucifixion scene is rounded out with the figures of Holy Mary and St John the Theologian and, more often than not, glimpses from the Passion. It is a very elaborate, magnificent, and majestic composition, full of extraordinary expressiveness; one of such Crucifixion scenes became the theme of St Francis’s contemplation. Similar images have survived in Italian churches from the dawn of the Renaissance. They have acted as a sort of keystone that binds together the Christianity of the East and of the West. In recent times, we have been witnessing a return to these shared iconographic images of all Christianity”.[6]

In his practice as an artist, Nowosielski produced dozens of such crosses, both for liturgical purposes, to fit at the top of an iconostasis or a tetrapod, and for private devotion. The oldest preserved example was modeled on the famous San Damiano icon and intended for a chapel at the monastery of the Convent of the Sisters of Saint Hedwig the Queen of Servants of the Present Christ in Kraków; at the beginning of the 1960s, the artist donated the cross to Wacław Świeżawski, the future bishop of Sandomierz [fig. 1]. Nowosielski’s Franciscan crosses found their way into Eastern Orthodox and Catholic churches in Kraków, Tyniec, Wrocław, Wesoła, Warszawa, Bielsko Podlaskie, and Górowo Iławeckie, as well as into many private collections.[7] The last and the largest of those unfinished crosses was placed in the chancel of the Church of St Dominic in the neighborhood of Służew in Warsaw.[8]



Among the oldest documented images of St Francis in Nowosielski’s art is a polychrome piece from the Church of Holy Mary in Olszyny from 1957, produced in tandem with Witold Damasiewicz. Unfortunately, it has not survived to the present day. Photographs preserved in the archives of the Voivodship Heritage Preservation Office make it easy to guess which parts were painted by Nowosielski, e.g.  the medallions with the busts of saints under the arch of the rood screen in the chancel [fig. 2], including images of St Francis and St Dionysius the Areopagite, a very important figure in Eastern Orthodox tradition.

In parallel, Nowosielski was working on a polychrome for the Church of the Elevation of the Holy Cross in Zbylitowska Góra (1956–1957),[9] which included Stations of the Cross in the naves, Christological scenes on the rood screen wall, and the decoration of the chancel. In a letter to Jerzy Turowicz, the artist wrote: “the Gothic chancel is mine as well, but it’s rather a pastiche of the Gothic, or I think so at least”.[10] Documents preserved at the Voivodship Conservator’s Office in Kraków show characteristic Gothic-style saints and the scene of St Francis receiving his stigmata [fig. 3], placed under the window in the northern wall of the chancel. The image illustrates the turning point of Francis’s life: the vision on Mount Alvernia, in which he saw Christ as a crucified Seraph and received bloody stigmata.[11] The scene found its classic interpretation in two paintings by Giotto, as well as in the frescoes of Assisi and the Bardi chapel in Florence.[12] It seems, however, that Nowosielski drew inspiration from much closer to home: a fresco found in the cloisters of the Franciscan monastery in Kraków[13] [fig. 4]. In Zbylitowska Góra, he copied the latter image in terms of the overall composition and the placing of the figures, as well as the details of architecture, costume, and landscape. Unfortunately, the entire chancel, including the stigmatization scene, was destroyed by being crudely repainted in the second half of the 1990s [fig. 5]. It was only thanks to the intervention of the curial commission that an end was put to further devastation; thankfully, following a more professional restoration process, the Stations of the Cross and the polychrome of the rood screen now preserve their original character. The perturbations were reported in great detail by the openly skeptical parson, Eugeniusz Lis, in the parish chronicle:

The paintings, reads a 1996 entry, were made by Jerzy Nowosielski; his Byzantine style never won the approval of the congregation. The polychrome met opposition from the very start, people could not bear looking at the caricatural shape of some figures. Even Archbishop Jerzy Ablewicz recommended that the piece should be repainted because, as he said, “whatever does Byzantium have to do with Zbylitowska Góra…” […] We found a painter, one by the name of Jan Niedojadło from Szczepanów, and he was commissioned to refresh the painting and correct its most glaring flaws. […] When the chancel was ready, the art commission arrived: Bishop Józef Gucwa and Prelate Władysław Szczebak. They rejected the painter’s work and ordered a halt to the renovation.


Two years later, the parson did not even try to hide his annoyance. He reported:

The scaffolding, which was already in place, had to be taken down and we had to wait for the official decision. At long last, Mr. Marek Niedojadło, along with his two sons and one more hired youth, was commissioned to complete the restoration of the polychrome, this time with the green light from Bishop Gucwa and Prelate Szczebak. […] The 1950s painting was refreshed precisely and faithfully, and all the lame hands and feet, etc., were kept untouched out of veneration for the art and grandeur of Mr. Nowosielski. Mr. Jan Niedojadło had done pretty much the same work as Mr. Marek Niedojadło and his three assistants. The difference was that Mr. Jan Niedojadło had corrected a lot of the caricatural errors in the paintings, and had done so at a price five times lower than his namesake recommended by the Curia.[14]

The next image of St Francis that Jerzy Nowosielski produced has not survived to this day either. The work in question was the mosaic entitled The Stigmatization of St Francis, put together between 16 and 20 August 1980 in the Church of St Francis of Assisi in Izabelin, near Warsaw. The artist had already designed a polychrome and the Stations of the Cross for the temple many years earlier, but his idea had been dismissed as “inappropriate for the spirituality of a Catholic church” by the chief architect of the temple, Barbara Brukalska,[15] an incident that, years later, the artist recalled with his typical detachment: “The design was never put into effect – and it was all for the best, the design was really bad”.[16]

The parish courted the artist to produce a mosaic with St Francis for several years; Nowosielski’s archives contain the correspondence that he exchanged with the parson, Andrzej Santorski, regarding the matter.[17] The actual works, which began in the tempestuous period of August 1980, are reported in the parish chronicle:

May 1980 – after several years of waiting and negotiations, the mosaic of St Francis of Assisi, the patron of our church, is almost ripe for realization. Professor Jerzy Nowosielski has sketched out the first design of “The Stigmata of St Francis” and is making efforts to acquire the necessary materials. 6 August 1980 – Professor Jerzy Nowosielski and his wife arrive at the parish. The artist begins to work on the mosaic. The colors that were delivered differ from the original design, but the artwork is sure to be an ornament to our parish church. […] 20 August 1980 – Professor Jerzy Nowosielski puts the finishing touches to his work and leaves for Kraków, disturbed by the news of rising unrest throughout the country. The master does not accept any remuneration, offering his work disinterestedly as a gift to the Izabelin church. 5 October 1980 – indulgence celebrations for St Francis. The holiday mass is officiated by priest Janusz Strojny; Tadeusz Fedorowicz delivers the sermon and, after the service, solemnly hallows the mosaic in the name of St Francis, Holy Mary, St John the Baptist, St Anthony, and St Clara.[18]

The parish chronicle also preserves a handful of blurry photographs from the period when the piece on the front wall of the side nave was being produced [fig. 6], as well as the original design of the mosaic, that was very different from the final composition [fig. 7]. Initially, the all white and turquoise-green mosaic was meant to show St Francis on the summit of a turquoise mount, standing with his arms outstretched like an orant’s under a cross with a crucified six-winged Seraph. From the wings of the Seraph fiery rays emanated toward the bloody stigmata of the saint. In the end, however, Nowosielski expanded the iconography of the scene, adding four more figures on both sides: Holy Mary and St John the Baptist shown in half-figure at the top, turning toward the cross, and below them, the full figures of St Anthony and St Clara, shown from the front [fig. 8]. In this way, the motif of stigmata took on a new theological and iconographic dimension, as discussed by Tadeusz Wyszomirski, who was clearly in awe of Nowosielski’s innovative approach: “The rich intellectual content of his art can be appreciated on the example of the mosaic devoted to St Francis, found in the parish church of Izabelin. The moment in which St Francis receives his stigmata is inscribed into the well-known Eastern Orthodox template of Deisis, showing Christ on the throne, flanked by the Mother of God and St John the Baptist. Deisis epitomizes the idea of mediation. The artist placed St Francis in the center, which suggests that his stigmata are taken to represent the acme of theosis (deification) that happened within him, that is, his maximum possible closeness to God. The fiery seraph over his head represents the mysterious alter ego of God Himself, the holy Angel of Yahweh, mentioned in an epicletic prayer from the Roman canon. It is the Holy Spirit that actualizes and reminds us of the saving acts of Christ”.[19]

Despite Nowosielski’s efforts and the goodwill of the church custodians, the mosaic gradually decayed due to its faulty construction and was removed during the expansion of the church in 1991.


The most interesting and elaborate “Franciscan” project of Jerzy Nowosielski was, undoubtedly, the interior of the Reformed Franciscan Church of the Immaculate Conception of the Holy Virgin Mary in the neighborhood of Azory in Kraków. The beginnings of the church and the monastery date back to the 1930s.[20] At that time, the new neighborhood on the outskirts of Kraków was endowed with a parish, and the church, built to the designs of Tadeusz Maćkowski, was also intended to serve as the headquarters of the General Commissariat of the Holy Land in Poland.

The construction of the church, in the typical modernist style of the 1930s, with a Golgotha motif on the facade, started in 1939, and did not go beyond one story: the lower chapel and the first floor of the monastery. Monks and parishioners had to content themselves with these rooms up until the early 1970s when, thanks to the rapid development of the neighborhood, the Franciscan order finally received the go-ahead to build a church based on a new design.

Consecrated in its raw state on 15 December 1975, the temple was designed by architects Przemysław Gawor and Małgorzata Subiaco and constructors Jan Grabacki and

Jan Gugulski.[21] The unimposing, sturdy block of the church was placed on a small plot of land, as if squeezed in between apartment buildings; in accordance with urban development plans, the temple could not rise higher than the surrounding four-story buildings. The church is made up of two juxtaposed cubes with walls of varying height, covered with pent roofs of different pitches. A monumental cross placed to the side, in the interstice between the two cubes, functions as a sort of turret and a keystone welding the church into a single form. The interior is uniform, spacious, and full of light, which enters though the upper skylight placed where the two roof ridges come together, as well as by side skylights. Its white smooth walls are insulated with wooden panels; the altar is a simple mensa on a three-step podium. “Shapes rise and fall rhythmically, like waves,” Jerzy Skąpski writes. “Surfaces slant in a balanced way, there is a sense of harmony in the interior. The church has ‘human’ proportions, man feels neither too small, nor too big for it. It is a space in which one can breathe freely. […] There is plenty of natural light but it’s not a source of distraction because it remains hidden. Those facing the altar cannot see the window. This allows worshippers to disengage from the surroundings and achieve concentration. […] Designers intended to create an interior of truly Franciscan purity and simplicity and fully accomplished their goal.”[22] [fig. 9].

Jerzy Nowosielski was approached with the offer to design the interior by Przemysław Gawor, the architect of the church, who remembered the artist back from their times at the Kunstgewerbeschule under German occupation. The idea received the support of one of the parishioners, Stanisław Grygiełło, an editor associated with the “Znak” monthly. Given completely free rein, the painter came up with a fully original iconographic design, but also alluded to the Reformed Franciscan canon. The decoration was to be made up of the Stations of the Cross and a large altar panel on the eastern wall of the church. The first designs date back to 1976, the altarpiece was painted a year later, and the Stations of the Cross in the first half of 1978. The Stations of the Cross were officially mounted on Good Friday, 24 March 1978, and the official consecration of the church by Cardinal Franciszek Macharski followed on 8 December 1979.

The liturgy of the Way of the Cross is derived from the Jerusalem liturgy of the Holy Week dating back to the 4th century; it involves following in the steps of Christ’s Passion.[23] The ordering of the stations and their number (14) was finally decided around the end of the 18th century. The Franciscans, who took over custody of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem in 1320, were particularly instrumental in disseminating the ritual.

Nowosielski had previously designed Stations of the Cross for other Catholic parishes, such as those in Izabelin, Zbylitowska Góra, the university church of the Catholic University of Lublin,[24] and in Wesoła,[25] but found each new project immensely challenging. The iconography of Our Lord’s Passion, divided into cruel stages, is essentially foreign to the Eastern Orthodox spirit, which puts a greater emphasis on the theology of the resurrection and avoids showing the humiliated body of the Savior. Nowosielski also shared in the aversion to the images of Christ’s death and suffering that were so popular in Western art, referring to the traditional imagery of the Way of the Cross as a “cruel, sadistic cartoon strip”, “a series of sculpted and painted atrocities”, and even “the deviation of the Western Church”. “If it were up to me,” he confessed unceremoniously, “I would throw Stations of the Cross out of the church altogether”.[26] However, in response to the needs of Catholic liturgy, he approached the theme on more than one occasion and saw its controversial iconography as an intriguing source of artistic challenge. This adds one more reason to appreciate his effort and creativity: he did not want to paint the brutal torment of the cross in a literal manner, and therefore avoided narrative detail, grounding his theology, as remarked by Henryk Paprocki, in the Eastern Orthodox liturgy of the Paschal Triduum (antiphons, canons of the matins, vespers of the Good Friday and Good Saturday).[27] “I think that those scenes are the most dangerous to paint. After all, how should one paint an execution, a ruthless one at that, so as not to slide into sadism, naturalism, or a kind of pathos? I wanted to deal with the theme as subtly as possible. It had to be sad, and even quite grim, but without the emotional clamor that seems to me thoroughly indecent in this context”.[28]

Stylistically, the Stations of the Cross in Azory allude to those in Wesoła. Echoes can be discerned in the austerity of their composition and their attention to scenery; incidentally, they were created at a time when Nowosielski also worked on theater sets, e.g. for the staging of Sophocles’ Antigone. This might be the source of his “theatrical thinking” in the building of individual scenes: the shallow stage, backstage, schematic architecture, centrality of the lead “actors” of the story. However, in contrast to the somber “prison-like” Stations of the Cross in Wesoła, full of murky grays and subdued browns, the pinewood panels of the stations in Kraków radiate with a vivid and intense palette of colors: flashy vermillion, white, blackish brown, distributed sparsely in robust blots against the golden pinewood background. The open texture of the wood, the natural outlines of the knots and grains covered with transparent varnish, resemble the golden background of icons and the resplendence of mosaics.

The church in Azory received 11 stations on separate pinewood panels in four formats:

55 × 154 cm, 105 × 84 cm, 84 × 105 cm, and 54 × 83 cm. The southern wall features the following: I. Jesus is condemned to death, II. Jesus carries his cross, III. Jesus falls the first time, IV. Jesus meets his mother, V. Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus carry his cross; and the northern wall: VI. Veronica wipes the face of Jesus (the Mandylion), VII. Jesus falls the second time, VIII. Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem, IX. Jesus falls the third time, X. Jesus is stripped of his garments, XI. Jesus is nailed to the cross [figs. 10–20]. The last three stations (XII. Jesus dies on the cross, XIII. Jesus is taken down from the cross, XIV. Jesus is laid in the tomb) were inscribed into the retable of the altar. In order to avoid an elaborate narrative structure, cruel details, and dramatic literality, Nowosielski opted for mere visual “emblems”, ideograms that symbolize the mysteries of Christ’s Passion. His Via dolorosa takes place outside the city walls. As in Wesoła, the artist fell back on solutions known from Hellenistic painting: the architecture is only symbolic, its outline formed by the ramparts surrounding Jerusalem: pillars, defense towers, the narrow slits of windows. In this austere, empty space three solitary figures can be discerned: Christ, distinguished by a red robe and nimbus, and the two thieves. Each of the three is carrying a transverse beam, patibulum, tied to his shoulders with leather straps. United by a common fate, they all experience pain and humiliation. All these spare and concise forms are nevertheless permeated with terror and dramatic tension. Tension is created by special means: the three figures are suspended in a spatial void, which creates an impression of besiegement and excruciating loneliness. The witnesses they pass on their way: the judges of the Sanhedrin, Jerusalemite women, like a chorus of ancient theater, only serve to heighten the inevitable sense of what is about to happen.

The three convicts are very seldom shown all together throughout the Stations of the Cross. Nowosielski used this iconographic concept both in Wesoła, and in Azory; he was probably inspired by the veneration of the Good Thief, the first man saved by Christ, still quite alive in Eastern Orthodox Christianity. The Good Thief is often the patron saint of churches and frequently features, alongside St Stephen, the first martyr, on the deacon’s doors of the iconostasis. Nowosielski had great piety for the Good Thief, which he confessed in Znak w górach, a film by Agata Ławniczak. Describing his icon, he commented: “This is the Good Thief. The one who died on the cross to the right of Christ and who was led to paradise by Christ himself. I prefer him to all the other characters that tradition suggests in his place. Because in our existential situation, when we are going through the drama of faith, he seems to me the most important. I am like him, too. There is an exapostilarion for the matins of Good Friday, which accompanies the reading of the twelve paschal gospels in the Holy Week: Błogorozumnogo razbojnika w ojedinom czasie raje Gospody spodobiu jesi, i mienie trebum chrestium, razumi i spasi. I spasi mienia… [“The wise thief at that same hour, O Lord, Thou didst deem worthy of Paradise. Enlighten me as well by Thy Cross, and save me”].[29]

The painful timeliness of this Passion painted in the secondhalf of the turbulent 20th century is also rooted in Nowosielski’s own personal experience, typical for his entire generation. Nowosielski had witnessed many dramatic events; he had seen the liquidation of the Lviv ghetto from up close, been rounded up by a German patrol, and even spent a short time in a transition camp in Prądnik.[30] The tragic context of the Stations of the Cross did not escape the attention of Stanisław Rodziński, who wrote: “I feel I am a witness to the mystery of the Passion and Passover, but I can also see the theme of execution already mentioned before. What we have here is an interpretation of a classical motif of religious painting, but we easily sense that the gospel scenes are filtered through and painted by a man, who years earlier witnessed round-ups and mass shootings in the streets of his town”.[31]

Designing these Stations of the Cross, so foreign to Eastern Orthodox tradition, Nowosielski emphasized that they are not icons: “This is not an icon. It is a flake of the icon. I mean, I used my experience of the icon to create a certain vision of the execution of the three convicts. […] I do not show the body in all its glory. I show the human body in its humiliation; this is not yet an icon. This is, for lack of a better word, an introduction to an icon or a lead-up to an icon”.[32]

Mounted on wooden panels, the stations, together with the altar, cover three walls of the interior, as if surrounding the congregation, claiming the whole space to themselves and creating a single harmonious whole [fig. 21]. The diverse dimensions of the paintings, placed alternately, create a rhythm of color and geometry on the walls, further reinforced by the internal composition of the scenes. The composition of individual scenes is typical of the artist’s work, even his most abstract, standing out with its juxtaposition of large surfaces of uniform color against small forms around the edges of the scene. The whole is very decorative but the static nature of the composition and a certain asceticism endow these little scenes with truly monumental character.

Writing about the project, Professor Rzeplińska emphasized “the ascetic beauty of this painting style”, and its formal rigor, both in terms of color and composition:

These symbolically schematic images, sparsely scattered throughout a large surface, are often terse but always remain fully legible and accessible. Each image is enclosed in a concise form that never repeats itself. Even though it is possible to trace three basic schemas: the cross, the circle, and the rectangle, they appear in a different scale and outline each time. The artist is equally rigorous in his choice of colors. […] The choice is only in part dictated by symbolic convention and their distribution ingeniously plays with the distances between them. The vermillion, which repeatedly appears in the same shade, endows the whole retable with a common rhythm and gives off an impression of coherence, even though we read each image separately, since they are quite sparsely distributed. The background is made of wood, the traditional, Polish, Slavic material used from times immemorial; enlivened by Nowosielski’s color palette it takes on a glow reminiscent of golden mosaics.[33]


The last three stations of the cross were inscribed into a large, oblong altarpiece on the eastern wall of the church [fig. 22]. The pinewood panel with a surface of c. 520 m² features several scenes that are also important for the symbolism of the Eucharist and the Reformed Franciscan tradition. The patronage of St Francis and fact that the church was consecrated in the name of the Immaculate Conception of the Holy Virgin Mary could have suggested a different theme for the main altar; the central position of the Crucifixion, intended as the 13th station but also the center of the sanctuary, was meant as a conscious bow to the canon of Reformed Franciscan churches, which dictated that the central altar should always feature the Crucified Christ, and marked a clear return to Christocentric spirituality. “All Reformed Franciscan churches,” writes Bogdan Brzuszek O.F.M, “had an altar with an image of St Francis, but it was never the main altar, not even in churches consecrated in his name. In Poland, central altars in Reformed Franciscan temples featured a sculpted Christ hanging on the cross. […] The monastic reform, after all, called for a return to St Francis, and the cross of Christ had played a vital role in his life”.[34]

In traditional Reformed Franciscan churches, the two side altars which form the wings of a grand triptych, traditionally showed St Francis receiving his stigmata and an image of Holy Mary: “However, in every church, one of the 4 or 6 altars, usually placed near the rood screen or at the boundary of the chancel, was dedicated to St Francis. Thus, the altar constituted a wing of the grand altar that showed the Crucifixion. Initially by convention, and later by law, it featured an image of the saint receiving his stigmata. […] The other wing of the grand altar showed the Mother of God. […] Thus, the interior of every Reformed Franciscan church was an extremely coherent logical whole and expressed the Christocentric spirituality of Polish Reformed Franciscans”.[35] In traditional Reformed Franciscan churches, the left altar [on the Gospel side] showed the Mother of God, and the right altar [on the Epistle side] – St Francis. “However, the first wing of the grand altar, the side altar on the Gospel side, was dedicated to the Mother of God. The altar on the Epistle side was devoted to St Francis receiving his stigmata from Christ. […] Around the middle of the 18th century, Stations of the Cross were added, which visually and intellectually highlighted the mysteries of the cross presented in the main altar”.[36]

In the altarpiece of Azory, the scene of Crucifixion was depicted in accordance with the Eastern tradition: the body of Christ is nailed to the cross with four bolts and, on the two sides of the horizontal beam, the busts of Holy Mary and St John the Baptist are shown. The sun and the moon above them endow the Golgotha scene with a cosmic dimension [fig. 23]. In the 14th station of the cross, however, the artist introduced an original twist to the Reformed Franciscan tradition and reversed the classical ordering of the scene, showing St Francis on the left side of the altar and the Mother of God on the right. The scene in which Jesus is taken down from the cross was rendered as the bust of the Mother of God, in the pose of an orant, over the emblem of an empty cross with a shroud hanging on the beam and with ladders on both sides [fig. 24]. The reason for this reversal was presumably a purely practical one: the right side of the cross had to have enough space for two more stations of the cross, so the stigmatization of St Francis had to fit in on the left.

The last, 14th, station (Jesus is laid in the tomb) [fig. 25] is rendered as an Epitaphios, i.e. the Plashchanitsa, a cloth showing the dead body of Christ which is venerated as part of the Good Friday liturgy in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. Above the Epitaphios, Nowosielski placed a medallion with the classical Eastern motif of Anastasis (The Harrowing of Hell), as if supplementing the Passion with a 15th station: the Resurrection.

On the left, over the door of the tabernacle, Nowosielski placed yet another Mandylion, an image of Christ’s face typical of Eastern Orthodox tradition, i.e. the Acheiropoietos (an image not made by human hands). The first Mandylion, through its affinity with the symbolism of the Veil of Veronica, functions as the 6th station: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus. In an attempt to remain faithful to the Reformed Franciscan tradition, Nowosielski decided to make the Stigmatization of St Francis the dominant motif on the left side of the altar, and at the same time revised the traditional, most frequently copied iconographic model of the scene [fig. 26].

The Reformed Franciscan order (also known as the Order of Friars Minor of Stricter Observance) was created in the 16th century in the wake of one of the many revival movements in the Franciscan and Bernardine orders. Reformed Franciscans first appeared in Poland in 1587, which is why their iconography of St Francis follows the post-Tridentine, “mystical” model popularized, for instance, by El Greco in his many depictions of the saint.[37] In these images, full of pathos and religious exaltation, emotions were emphasized, such as ecstasy and the prayerful raptures of St Francis, who was shown kneeling, his eyes fixed on the sky, or struck with a miraculous vision, fainting in the arms of angels.

In his composition of the Stigmatization in Azory, Nowosielski went away from both the tradition of Giotto and post-Tridentine iconography, going back to the oldest known depictions of the saint. The lean, ascetic, hooded figure with stigmatized hands outstretched in the posture of an orant harks back to the earliest, 13th-century Italian images of St Francis, such as “brother Francis” from the fresco in the Chapel of St George in the Benedictine monastery of Subiaco (pre-1228) [fig. 27] or those known from the paintings by Maragritone d’Arezzo.[38] In Nowosielski’s conception, the holy friar throwing his hands upward, toward the miraculous vision of the crucified Seraph, also brings to mind another, much closer example of this rare, “standing” version of stigmatization: the interpretation of the theme by Stanisław Wyspiański in a stained-glass window at the Franciscan church in Kraków[39] [fig. 28].

In the scene of St Francis’s vision, traditional iconography, following Giotto and the post-Tridentine model, usually depicted a winged Christ on the cross, emerging from the sky before the friar absorbed in prayer. In the Azory retable, the image of Seraph shows an influence of earlier Byzantine angelological iconography, based on the vision of Isaiah (Isaiah, 6, 1-4) and the tractate of Dionysius the Areopagite.[40] Appearing before the saint, the Seraph is hanging on the cross, afflicted with bloody stigmata; he has eight large wings covered with eyes and the face of Christ, surrounded by a red circle at the point where the beams cross. The piercing eyes on his wings symbolize his participation in divine wisdom and the ability to grasp eternal truth. Professor Różycka-Bryzek claims that they stand for “the omniscience rooted in the ability to see everything and represent the ubiquitous oversight of Providence that reaches even to the farthest corners of the earth”.[41]

The rich iconography of the altarpiece in Azory includes yet another figure of key importance to Nowosielski. At the foot of the cross, St John the Baptist bears a scroll with the words “Behold, the Lamb of God”; he is the alter ego of St Francis, who received the name of John at baptism. “In fact, he should be called St John of Assisi, the artist held. The name of “Francis” diminishes the seriousness of this extremely important figure of Church history”.[42] In yet another allusion to Eastern Orthodox spirituality, Nowosielski also emphasizes the mystical bond that exists between St Francis and the worlds of animals and angels:


“The Lamb of God” is the crucified Christ, the artist explains, but the lamb is also an animal intended for ritual slaughter, and this is where the issue of St Francis comes in: he took an absolutely special approach toward the natural world, especially to the animal kingdom. […] It is possible that the metaphysical reality that radiated from the animal world shaped his spirituality to a greater degree than he influenced the world by talking to animals. Animals spoke to him in their own language. […] In the esoteric elements of various religious traditions, angels represent the realm of nature, of animals, at higher levels of being, and the animal kingdom remains under their direct protection. This issue is even more complicated, I mean, in my case it is compounded, because St John the Baptist has a special relationship to the angelic world. There are theological treatises in which fallen angels are explicitly substituted by his figure. I am referring to the theological works of Sergei Bulgakov. In his book “The Friend of the Bridegroom”, Bulgakov develops certain theological intuitions that are very objective and well-justified with regard to St John the Baptist, precisely in the context of including the world of subtle beings in Christological kenosis. This is why I consider St Francis relevant to all this; he did, after all, bear the name of St John the Baptist. I believe that Christian tradition at large, and, it pains me to say, Franciscan tradition in particular, have completely neglected these motifs, these elements of St Francis’s mystical experience, and I wanted to provide them with an outlet, to make a certain theological allusion to these matters, which, I suppose and hope, are of especially great importance today. They can come back to life, enliven the entire theological thought.[43]

The special veneration that St John the Baptist enjoys in Byzantium and the Eastern Orthodox tradition, the popularity of his relics, numerous church consecrations, his presence in art and hymnography, all deserve separate treatment in another publication. The Eastern tradition has even elaborated a characteristic iconography, such as the image of St John the Baptist as the Angel of the Desert, depicted as an ascetic prophet with wings, clad in animal leather.[44] In a sense, this icon visualizes what Nowosielski speaks about: the special bond that the saint has with the worlds of angels and animals, his role as a “voice calling in the desert”, as an intermediary and the first prophet of the New Testament. In this manner, St John the Baptist personifies the traits that convention often attributes to St Francis as well: asceticism, the prophetic charism, and friendship with animals. Nowosielski himself also painted St John the Baptist in this form several times; his icons of the “Angel of the Desert” can now be admired, for instance, in the iconostasis in Węgorzewo, as well as the Greek Catholic church in Wrocław.[45]

The artist arrived at his final conception for the altarpiece in Azory while working on the polychrome for the same church; however, an earlier design has survived of the altar panel with a slightly different layout of the scenes [fig. 29]. In terms of composition and color, the central scene of the Crucifixion resembles the rest of the Stations of the Cross. The figure of St John the Baptist is missing, and so is the motif of stigmata; instead, three icons were added depicting unspecified saints (St Francis?, St Anthony?, St Clara?). The station Jesus is laid in the tomb was also replaced by the Plashchanitsa; however, the place of Anastasis above was taken by a mysterious blue square hovering over the dead body of Christ. Its symbolism as profound and complex as that of Malevich’s Black Square, the blue square appears in many of Nowosielski’s paintings, not only those intended for worship [fig. 30]. Its origin seems to lie in the inscriptional cartouches often found on saintly images, but the lack of any hierogram turns it into a symbol of the “Nameless Holiness”, the Holiest Name, which, in accordance with the Hebrew tradition that forbids pronouncing the name of God, must forever remain unspoken.

The elaborate symbolism of the retable in Azory combines Franciscan motifs with the scenes of the Eucharist and Passion, drawing profusely on the Eastern Orthodox tradition; it could hardly be grasped in full by parishioners, who were, after all, used to a much more conventional iconography. “I believe that everything is legible here – Nowosielski assures – even though it no doubt requires a certain commentary. Those celebrating the Stations of the Cross will search it for the relevant message, and those listening to the Eucharistic Prayer will retrieve the theme of anamnesis. The stigmatization of St Francis may be less legible, it is a theme that emerged from profound theological reflection, but it is not unintelligible to believers after all. And anyway, as I said before, a sacred image should not replace the catechism, or at least that should not be its main role”.[46]


The interior of the church in Azory is rounded out by a stained-glass window by Jerzy Skąpski, based on the Franciscan cross of San Damiano, a tabernacle and a baptismal font by Bronisław Chromy, and furnishings designed by the architects of the church, Przemysław Gawor and Magdalena Grabacka: pulpit, pews, stalls, confessionals, the casing of the pipe organ, and chandeliers. Despite a coherent conception, efforts to achieve full esthetic unity of the interior proved unsuccessful; against the wishes of the designers, the investor put huge wooden-cased heaters on the walls between the individual stations of the cross, thus spoiling the visual effect of the whole.

Despite the admiration of connoisseurs, accolades from the press, and even international recognition (in 1990, two stations of the cross and an abstract stained-glass window by Nowosielski were displayed at the 4th Sacred Art Biennale in the Italian town of Pescara),[47] the unusual design of the interior was initially rejected by parishioners. “People found it hard to accept for a long time”, reports the current parson, Jacek Koman O.F.M, “they would even come to the confessional and ask ‘When are you going to remove this?’”.[48]

“What is this all good for?”, Nowosielski asked ruefully, “parishioners suffer, they don’t like it, I am imposing something on them. Go to Azory, try and find a time when my paintings can be seen! No, every opportunity is good to cover them up; be it First Communion, be it Easter, a styrofoam decoration shoots up or paper cutouts appear. The nuns won’t rest until the entire altarpiece is covered up! I talked to Cardinal Macharski when he consecrated the church, he liked the design a great deal, and I told him: I am not sure if you realize how obnoxious it is to people?  He could not understand what I meant; he is an intelligent priest of refined taste, he does not understand these folk emotions”.[49]

Przemysław Gawor, the architect of the church, asks a troubling question:


Is it possible to reconcile the esthetic perception of artists and the public? My experience in that department inclines me to think it is rather out of the question. […] But all attempts at suggesting something different, novel, and more difficult are rejected. Let me give an example. Jerzy Nowosielski painted an altarpiece and the Stations of the Cross for the Franciscan church in Azory in Kraków. When he finished, priest Jan Popiel delivered a series of teachings to help the parish understand them better. Instead, parishioners said: “This is Russian”. Even the former Provincial Superior remarked: “You’ve opened the first Eastern Orthodox church in Kraków…”. One day, I come by the Church and what do I see? The Way of the Cross for children is in progress, but the children do not pass and pray under beautiful, expressive paintings; instead, they are sat in pews, watching projected cartoon-like slides…But years have passed, people have prayed in this place long enough and I think it has begun to grow on them.

I think that in those past years of church-building, the successes and failures of artists aside, we have wasted a unique opportunity to educate the congregations, prepare them for the task of receiving and experiencing contemporary religious art.[50]

For a long time, the chance seemed irretrievably lost. Several years ago, on 29 November 2010, publicist Tomasz Cyz wrote on his blog:

I am thinking of our “contemporary Giotto”: Jerzy Nowosielski. The Franciscan church in the Azory neighborhood in Kraków has his Stations of the Cross, a work of true genius (yes, genius!). I wanted to see them when I visited Kraków in September. The church is only open at mass times and there is no information in the vicinity about the masterpiece it contains, not even on the website. They let me in after repeated pleading, just for a moment. When I was leaving, a nun said something really profound and emblematic: “You like this? I can see nothing in it”. Neither the Church, nor the municipality are interested in these works of art. There is no tourist trail leading up to Azory. And this place should be like the best museum where you come to renew your vision.[51]

However, change is underway. In the spring of 2013, following the efforts of a small group of people, the interior of the Reformed Franciscan Church of the Immaculate Conception of the Holy Virgin Mary in Azory, designed by Jerzy Nowosielski, was inscribed into the National Registry of Historic Sites. In May 2015, a visit to the church, alongside a visit to the Eastern Orthodox church in Szpitalna Street, will be part of the program of the 17th Małopolska Days of Cultural Heritage.


[1] Z. Podgórzec, Rozmowy z Jerzym Nowosielskim, Kraków 2014, pp. 125, 73.

[2] Cf. W. Hryniewicz, Wprowadzenie do teologii ks. Jerzego Klingera, in: J. Klinger, O istocie prawosławia, Warszawa 1983, p. 20.

[3] J. Nowosielski, Zagubiona bazylika. Refleksje o sztuce i wierze, Kraków 2013, p. 360.

[4] Cf. K. Czerni, “A czto to takie czorne?”– historia powstania i recepcji polichromii Jerzego Nowosielskiego w cerkwi greckokatolickiej pw. Zaśnięcia Najświętszej Marii Panny w Lourdes (1984), in: Mit – symbol – mimesis. Studia z dziejów teorii i historii sztuki dedykowane profesor Elżbiecie Wolickiej-Wolszleger, Lublin 2009, pp. 359–391; M. Porębski, Realizm eschatologiczny Jerzego Nowosielskiego, in: idem, Nowosielski, Kraków 2003, pp. 113–114.

[5] Cf. D. Campini, Giunta Pisano. Capitini e le croci dipinte romaniche, Milano 1966.

[6] Podgórzec 2014 (fn. 1), pp. 324–325.

[7] Cf. K. Czerni, Katalog projektów i realizacji sakralnych Jerzego Nowosielskiego, in: eadem, Nowosielski, Kraków 2006, pp. 209–215.

[8] K. Czerni, Krzyż z kościoła oo. Dominikanów. Warszawa-Służew, Warszawa [no date given, November 2003].

[9] Cf. K. Czerni, Nietoperz w świątyni. Biografia Jerzego Nowosielskiego, Kraków 2011, pp. 189–191; J. Nowosielski, Listy i zapomniane wywiady, ed. K. Czerni, Kraków 2015, pp. 102–111, 183–184; K. Czerni, Nowosielski w Małopolsce. Sztuka sakralna, Kraków 2015, pp. 46–61.

[10] Nowosielski 2015 (fn. 9), p. 183.

[11] Cf. K. Künstle, Ikonographie der christlichen Kunst, vol. 2: Ikonographie der Heiligen, Freiburg im Breisgau 1926, pp. 237–254; L. Réau, Iconographie de l‘Art Chrétien, vol. 3: Iconographie des Saints, part I: A–F, Paris 1958, pp. 516–535; C. Frugoni, Francesco e l‘invenzione delle stimmate, Turyn 1993.

[12] R. Goffen, Spirituality in Conflict. Saint Francis and Giotto’s Bardi Chapel, University Park–London 1988; G. Basile, Giotto – Le storie francescane, Milan 1996.

[13] Z. Ameisenowa, Średniowieczne malarstwo ścienne w Krakowie, “Rocznik Krakowski” 19, 1923, pp. 97–103.

[14] Parish archives of the Church of the Elevation of the Holy Cross in Zbylitowska Góra, Parish chronicle, entries by parson E. Lis from 1996, 1998.

[15] Information given by Professor Krystyna Zwolińska, cf. Czerni 2011 (fn. 9), p. 303.

[16] Quoted in: A. Petrowa-Wasilewicz, Uśmiech księdza Alego. Dzieje parafii świętego Franciszka z Asyżu w Izabelinie, Warszawa 2001, p. 104.

[17] Cf. also Nowosielski 2015 (fn. 9), pp. 228–229.

[18] Parish archives of the Church of St Francis of Assisi in Izabelin, Parish chronicle, 1980 entries.

[19] T. Wyszomirski, Myśl teologiczna Jerzego Nowosielskiego, “Życie Katolickie”, 1984, vol. 10, p. 83.

[20] K. Brzezina, Pierwotne założenie kościoła Niepokalanego Poczęcia Najświętszej Marii Panny na Azorach w Krakowie (lata 30. i 40. XX wieku), in: Trwałość? Użyteczność? Piękno? Architektura dwudziestego wieku w Polsce, ed. A. Zabłocka-Kos, Wrocław 2011, pp. 63–68.

[21] Cf. J.S. Wroński, Kościół pw. Niepokalanego Poczęcia NMP, oo. Franciszkanów-Reformatów, Azory, ul. Chełmońskiego 41, in: idem, Kościoły Krakowa zbudowane w latach 1945–1989, Kraków 2010, pp. 134–139, figs. 45–50.

[22] J. Skąpski, Klasztor na Azorach, “Tygodnik Powszechny”, 1976, vol. 3, p. 6; J. Popiel SJ, Eine Kirche in Kraków – Azory, “Das Münster”, 1979, vol. 3, pp. 198–199.

[23] W. Smereka, Drogi Krzyżowe. Rys historyczny i teksty, Kraków 1980; J. Kopeć CP, Stations of the Cross. Dzieje nabożeństwa i antologia współczesnych tekstów, Poznań 1985.

[24] Cf. K. Czerni, „Projekt, zupełnie zresztą bezkompromisowy” – niezrealizowana polichromia Jerzego Nowosielskiego dla kościoła akademickiego KUL w Lublinie (1962), in: Niezrealizowana polichromia Jerzego Nowosielskiego dla kościoła akademickiego KUL. Wystawa prac z Galerii Starmach. KUL. 22 lutego – 9 marca 2015 r., exhibition catalogue, Lublin 2015, pp. 3–15.

[25] Cf. Jerzy Nowosielski. Via Crucis, Galeria Słowiańska, Kraków 2000; R. Rogozińska, Jerzy Nowosielski. Sztuka na dnie piekła, in: eadem, W stronę Golgoty. Inspiracje pasyjne w sztuce polskiej w latach 1970–1999, Poznań 2002, pp. 246–255.

[26] Podgórzec 2014 (fn. 1), p. 68–69.

[27] Cf. H. Paprocki, Droga zmartwychwstania. Esej o Drodze Krzyżowej w Wesołej, in: Jerzy Nowosielski 2000 (fn. 25), pp. 4–7.

[28] J. Nowosielski, Sztuka po końcu świata. Rozmowy, Kraków 2012, p. 50.

[29] Nowosielski 2015 (fn. 9), pp. 291–292.

[30] Cf. Czerni 2011 (fn. 9), pp. 86–90, 171–172.

[31] S. Rodziński, Szaleństwo malarza, “Sztuka Sakralna”, 2003, vol. 4, pp. 22–25.

[32] Podgórzec 2014 (fn. 1), p. 75.

[33] M. Rzepińska, Kościół na Azorach, “Konteksty”, 1996, vol 3/4, p. 11.

[34] B. Brzuszek O.F.M, Kult św. Franciszka z Asyżu w polskich prowincjach reformatów (1621–1900), “Studia Franciszkańskie” 1, 1984, p. 221.

[35] Ibidem, p. 222.

[36] B. Brzuszek O.F.M, Kult Najświętszej Maryi Panny w Zakonie Braci Mniejszych Reformatów w XIX wieku, in: Niepokalana. Kult Matki Bożej na ziemiach polskich w XIX wieku, eds. B. Pylak, C. Krakowiak, Lublin 1988, p. 319.

[37] Cf. R. Mirończuk, O obrazie Ekstaza św. Franciszka El Greca, in: El Greco – Ekstaza świętego Franciszka z Muzeum Diecezjalnego w Siedlcach, Zamek Królewski w Warszawie – Muzeum, Warszawa 2014, p. 75–91; L’immagine di San Francesco nella Controriforma, exhibition catalogue, eds. S. Prosperi Valenti Rodinò, C. Strinati, Roma Calcografia, 9 dicembre 1982 – 13 febbraio, Roma 1982; A.J. Błachut O.F.M, La stimmatizzazione di S. Francesco nella pittura sacra polacca, “Archiwum Franciscanum Historicum” 75, 1982, pp. 421–429; J. Puciata-Pawłowska, Rafał Hadziewicz (1803–1886). Życie i twórczość, “Teka Komisji Historii Sztuki” 2, Toruń 1961, pp. 348–350.

[38] Cf. K. Krüger, Der Frühe Bildkult des Franziskus in ItalienGastalt- und Funktionswandel des Tafelbildes im 13. und 14. Jahrhundert, Berlin 1992, pp. 211–214, figs. 95–103; R. Wolff, Der heilige Franziskus in Schriften und Bildern des 13. Jahrhunderts, Berlin 1996.

[39] W. Bałus, Witraż ze świętym Franciszkiem, in: idem, Sztuka sakralna Krakowa w wieku XIX, part II: Matejko i Wyspiański, Kraków 2009, pp. 125–135.

[40] A. Różycka-Bryzek, Bizantyńsko-ruskie malowidła w kaplicy zamku lubelskiego, Warszawa 1983, p. 32.

[41] Ibidem, p. 33.

[42] Podgórzec 2014 (fn. 1), pp. 72–73.

[43] Ibidem.

[44] Cf. M. Branicka, Ikona św. Jana Chrzciciela – Anioła pustyni z Odrzechowej w zbiorach Muzeum Budownictwa Ludowego w Sanoku, “Materiały Muzeum Budownictwa Ludowego w Sanoku”, 2001, vol. 35, pp. 24–44, fig. 12; A. Sulikowska, Ikony Jana Chrzciciela w kolekcji Muzeum Narodowego w Warszawie – ciało anioła, męczeńska śmierć, święte zwłoki, “Rocznik Muzeum Narodowego w Warszawie”, 2013, vol. 2, pp. 184–216.

[45] Cf. K. Czerni, Nowosielski, Kraków 2006, s. 158; eadem, Projekty i realizacje sakralne Jerzego Nowosielskiego dla cerkwi greckokatolickiej, in: Światło Wschodu w przestrzeni gotyku, ed. K. Pasławska-Iwanczewska, Górowo Iławeckie 2013, p. 48.

[46] Mistrz współczesnej ikony. Z Jerzym Nowosielskim rozmawia Marian Słomczyński, “Za i Przeciw”, 1978, vol. 1, pp. 12–13; reprinted in: Nowosielski 2012 (fn. 28), p. 242.

[47] IV Biennale d’Arte Sacra, Stauros Internazionale, Communicato Stampa No 3, Sezione Europa a cura di Mary Angela Schroth, Pescara [no date given].

[48] Transcript from an interview with Father Jacek Koman, 23 April 2013, Kraków [personal archives of K. Czerni].

[49] Podgórzec 2014 (fn. 1), pp. 205, 425–426.

[50] Model, którego nie ma? Czy w Polsce są kościoły posoborowe? [discussion – a statement by architect Przemysław Gawor], “Znak”, 1999, vol. 8 (531), pp. 46–47.

[51] T. Cyz, Uwaga, blog entry from 29.10.2010; http://www.instytutobywatelski.pl/wydarzenia/189/cyz_uwaga [accessed: 16 Feb. 2011].

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