Glimpse 1984

William Willis made this watercolor on paper, Glimpse, with soft washes of grays and blacks. There's a real sense of emergence here, the image built up through layers of brushstrokes, kind of feeling its way into being. I can imagine Willis standing there, brush in hand, coaxing these shapes into existence. I mean, look at that central form – it’s almost like a puzzle piece, or some kind of architectural fragment. And then there are those curving lines to the left, like a ghostly echo of a vessel, or maybe an eye? The paint itself is applied thinly, allowing the paper's texture to peek through, adding another layer of depth. That zig-zagging edge on the right feels almost like a conscious act of disruption, maybe questioning the very nature of boundaries and containment. It's like Willis is in conversation with other painters, too, all riffing on similar ideas, but each finding their own unique voice in the process. Painting is about uncertainty. There’s a generosity in leaving it open like this, inviting us to bring our own experiences to the table.