Painting The Big Picture

I’VE FELT LIKE AN ARTIST my entire life. Even as a small child growing up in Częstochowa, Poland, people would say, “Dominik, you’re going to be an artist.” I was different, very sensitive, and in tune with my surroundings in ways that others didn’t seem to be. My focus in everything was always on the artistic and spiritual aspects of life.

Art has shaped how I see and experience everything. As a child, I was drawn to architecture. I wanted to create and build, whether it was a house made of Lego or arranging a room. It was about putting order to space. But I can easily switch off my mind and let myself drift, as if flying high above it all. I often feel that this set me apart from other architects or interior designers, who may be brilliant technically but lack that “something” that turns work into art. My projects are not typical; they’re artistic explorations, each one carrying a piece of me within it.

The person who influenced me the most was my mother. My father died two years ago, and while he was a brilliant man—a successful lawyer with a sharp, logical mind—he was also an alcoholic. My childhood was never easy or calm. When he was sober, life was good and we had everything, but when he drank, our home became hell. He was like a terrorist, and I was terrified, often too afraid to even leave my room.

Art became my escape during those times. When my father would scream, I’d put on headphones and retreat into my world of music and art. He did teach me to appreciate literature, introducing me to Hemingway and other great writers. But life was a constant swing between heaven and hell, and that turbulence still lives inside me. Even now, when everything seems to be going well, I have this sense that something could go wrong. My childhood trauma is a part of me; I can’t erase it.

My mother was my source of love and beauty. She was sensitive and kind, with an artistic spirit that shone through in her work at her flower shop, and then a perfume shop. She had great taste, which I believe is in my DNA. She was also very spiritual. She was fascinated by the stars, by tarot cards and the universe, while my father was grounded, like a stone.

Fourteen years ago, I was diagnosed with cancer, and though it may sound strange, I consider it a gift. My mother had died from cancer three years earlier. Before she died, she told me, “Think about yourself first.” She had always put others before herself, and her words made sense. If we are strong, we can help others.

Cancer taught me what truly matters in life. When I was in the hospital, I realized that all we have is life itself. We don’t need material things; we need to cherish every breath. I remember saying, “God, I could live on the street and have nothing, as long as I live.” We need to be grateful for every moment, even the difficult ones.

My art is constantly evolving. Everything inspires me—people, music, landscapes, colors. My first exhibition, “Renaissance,” held at Marius Monaco, was all about my past, a reflection of very difficult years marked by divorce, health issues, and personal struggles. But now, I’m in a different place. I’m in a state of “Flow,” which was the name of my second exhibition, held during the Monaco Yacht Show.

I am currently focused on my next exhibition. My dream is to take it to an entirely new level. I want to transport people into a different reality—a climate or space that feels otherworldly. I’m thinking of a church or even a tunnel, somewhere unexpected and outside of Monaco. Like walking through a good museum of modern art, I want my guests to leave the outside world behind.

I moved to this area seven years ago, and from the moment I arrived, I knew this was my place. The smell, the light, the energy—it all felt right to me. I told myself that I wanted to spend the rest of my life here. Monaco, with its calm, elegance, and culture, is my forever home. Here, I feel good, accepted, and at peace.

By Dominik Drygas

Contributor