Morning Still Life 1918

Kuzma Petrov-Vodkin made this still life of his morning tea on canvas with oil paint, and, for me, the painting is like a poem about a specific time and place. I can imagine Petrov-Vodkin setting up this scene—the samovar, the wildflowers, the glass of tea, the eggs—arranging them just so on the wooden table. I think he then stepped back, squinted, and started to paint, probably alla prima, wet-on-wet, laying down each brushstroke with intention. The colours are muted—ochre, blue, and silver—but somehow luminous. I am really drawn to how the items are placed in a strange perspective, slightly tilted, which makes the dog in the background seem to be peeking over the edge of the table. It reminds me of Morandi, in the way the most ordinary objects can become luminous when you spend time really looking. Painting is like that, a way of seeing that's also a way of feeling. Like the conversation painters have with each other across time, isn't it?