Autumn at Cenade 1973

Viorel Marginean made this painting, Autumn at Cenade, with a palette that’s like a memory of fall – greens that are almost earthy, contrasted with the sudden, bright reds of turning leaves. I can imagine Marginean in his studio, trying to capture something about the fleeting moment, right when the landscape shifts. Those bare trees, they’re almost scribbled in, quick gestures suggesting branches reaching out. The red leaves, though, they’re like these bursts of feeling, sitting right on the surface, demanding attention. It's a playful, almost naive approach, but there’s a real painterly intelligence at work. You see this in a lot of painters – that direct, almost childlike rendering that belies a sophisticated understanding of color and form. We are all in an ongoing conversation, remixing and sampling each other's ideas across generations. Ultimately, it’s about how we experience being in our bodies, in this world, trying to make sense of it all through color and form.