Birds 1962

Jerome Kaplan’s black and white lithograph is full of looping lines, scribbles, and soft smudges, forming a dense, textured surface. I like to imagine Kaplan attacking the plate with his tools, each mark building upon the last, the image emerging from a chaotic dance between intention and accident. Looking at the overall composition, I see suggestions of figures, maybe birds, hidden within the abstraction, as if the artist is coaxing forms out of the darkness. There’s a sense of searching here, as if Kaplan is trying to capture something elusive, a fleeting moment or a half-remembered dream. The dark marks feel urgent, full of energy, yet also vulnerable, as if they could disappear at any moment. It reminds me of Goya's dark, mysterious prints. For me, the beauty of this piece lies in its ambiguity, its willingness to embrace uncertainty and invite multiple interpretations. It's a reminder that art is not about answers, but about the questions it provokes. Artists keep the conversation going, inspiring new ways of seeing and thinking.