Why Duck illustrates. Period. Everybody sees what a style he has. Not merely for show.
It smells of pencil, ink and marker pens here. Customarily of vodka too. When Why Duck’s having a rest, he’s horsing around too, only this time in his head. He conceives, he figures, he imagines before he seizes a brush. No few beauties fell under his spell. His design that is. Mothers of Kraków daughters, beware! From now on, they’re never gonna be as safe and lonely as they used to be. The smarter ones will be tempted by a hip top or a tasty graphic on an artsy wall of one of the suburban villas. Who knows? Who can guess?
Bastard likes things of quality. He won’t buy just anything. He won’t wear a cap lacking style. His smell is refined. His eyes glitter. Why Duck knows where and why to go. No good gig escapes his attention. In every graphic, he always ties up the loose ends. And he never ends it, before it’s polished. A Polish son of a gun, who fires incredible, blackish and colorish masterpieces. Vectors are trickling, bitmaps – just a tad. He has one rule: firstly he’s drawing for HIMSELF.