Garden Lamp c. 1937

Florence Huston’s "Garden Lamp," a monochromatic wash on paper, feels like it emerged from a quiet afternoon of looking and layering. Imagine her, brush in hand, coaxing the lamp’s form from the paper, each layer of wash deepening the shadows, suggesting the cool gleam of glass and metal. I wonder what Huston thought about as she painted? Maybe she was imagining the soft glow it casts in a garden, the way the light dances through the leaves. The texture here is all illusion, built up through careful gradations. The leaves printed on the glass globe are barely there, ghostlike. That central band, those repeated, stunted ovals punched through, reminds me of Eva Hesse’s repetitive forms. It’s like Huston is whispering a secret about light, about how it filters and softens, transforming the everyday into something magical. And that little rosette, smack in the middle, feels like a painterly kiss.