Knee Pants c. 1936

Frederick Jackson’s watercolor, Knee Pants, shows a pair of baby blue breeches floating on a pale ground. The blue is thin and watery, a washy kind of pigment, and you can see the pencil lines underneath, holding the whole thing together, like a coloring book. Look how the artist has lovingly rendered the little buttons and the turned-up hems, as if he might be a tailor, or someone who has spent a lot of time around clothes. I imagine him studying each seam and button, feeling the fabric between his fingers. Maybe Jackson knew someone who wore these pants, and that’s why they’re so lovingly drawn, or maybe he’s just interested in the way clothes are made and how they shape the body. It reminds me of how painters like Fairfield Porter and Alex Katz painted clothes with their wearers still in them. You know, painting is really just a conversation between artists across time, isn't it? We all borrow from each other, building on what came before, adding our own little twist. That’s what keeps it alive, this constant back-and-forth, this shared language of color and form.