Mooring 1971

Joan Mitchell conjured 'Mooring' with oil on canvas, and it feels like I can see her doing it: the intuitive dance of color, the give-and-take as the painting emerged. There are these expansive washes of blue and lavender, punctuated by sharp, dark forms and stabs of orange. Imagine Mitchell moving around the canvas, her mind a whirlwind of feeling, trying to capture something fleeting yet powerful. The paint is thick in some places, thin in others, creating a surface that’s alive. That dark, almost rectangular shape near the bottom—is it a shadow, a mass, or a feeling made visible? The drips and splatters, the way the colors bleed into each other, all speak to a process of constant adjustment and revision. It’s like she’s grappling with the paint, letting it lead her, but also asserting her will. Mitchell was in conversation with de Kooning, Gorky, and definitely with her own past, trying to push painting into new, uncharted territory. That’s the beauty of painting, isn't it? An ongoing dialogue, a space of possibility, where meaning is never fixed, always in motion.