Cow Weather Vane c. 1938

Wynna Wright paints a cow weathervane on a square canvas, maybe even a found one. The palette is quiet, dominated by the rusted reds and greys of old metal against a creamy, barely-there background. I imagine Wright, standing before the canvas, coaxing out the form of the cow with each brushstroke. It’s not about perfection; it’s about presence. You can almost feel the metal beneath your fingertips, smell the rain on a summer day, and see that cow turning and shifting in the breeze. It reminds me a bit of other painters—Elizabeth Murray, maybe—who weren't afraid to mess things up a bit, to let the paint have its say. There’s a kind of freedom in that, a willingness to embrace uncertainty. These artists knew that the real magic happens when you let go of control and allow the painting to surprise you. Their legacy shows us that art, at its best, is an ongoing conversation across time.