Summer Afternoon 1917

Childe Hassam built up this landscape with dabs of oil paint, maybe in one sitting, maybe many, who knows? It’s a symphony of greens, blues, and browns, and it’s so loaded with texture, it's like you could reach out and touch the leaves rustling in the breeze. I imagine Hassam, squinting in the sunlight, trying to capture that fleeting moment when the light hits just right. Did he struggle with that tree, layering on the paint, scraping it off, starting again? I’ve been there. Look how the brushstrokes dance across the surface, building up the form, dissolving it, building it up again. The paint is applied with such freedom and spontaneity that it feels like a direct translation of feeling. There’s something so human about that struggle, that process of searching and finding, losing and rediscovering. It's a dialogue with the world and with oneself, and it’s something that all painters, past and present, can relate to. It’s a reminder that painting is a conversation, and we’re all invited to join in.