Route 15 1965

Jean Paul Lemieux’s 'Route 15' feels like it’s been built up slowly, like a long, quiet winter. Brown and white—or rather, the barest tints of white and brown—are spread patiently, the way snow falls in an unending field. I can imagine Lemieux standing before the canvas, maybe in a chilly studio, considering where to lay down that next layer. Is he thinking about Hopper? Maybe Morandi? There's a stillness to it, a kind of loneliness that reminds me of them both. It’s a reduced palette, applied in flat planes, so considered. That line running across the horizon – it almost vibrates with tension, holding that darkness above the stark openness below. I love how painting can be a conversation across time, like artists whispering to each other through their work. Like, here’s Lemieux, adding his voice to the chorus, reminding us that sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is just be quiet and observe. It's a reminder that we’re all just trying to make sense of the world, one brushstroke at a time.