Moroccan Door 1991

Howard Hodgkin conjured ‘Moroccan Door’ with layers of colour floating in pools of feeling. I can almost see him at work, laying down these loose swathes of intense blue, swirling into a creamier, chalky white, like waves crashing on the canvas. The solid black rectangle sits askew, a bold interruption, and the green shimmers beside it, like light reflecting off a cool, tiled wall. What I love about Hodgkin is how he makes paintings about memory and sensation, not just what you see but what you feel and remember. Think about that black form, so definite, then consider how its edges fray and dissolve back into the space around it. Hodgkin once said he wanted his paintings to be like “presents,” which is nice, right? Like he’s giving you a little piece of his world, his memories, his own way of seeing, transformed into something vivid and alive on the canvas. Artists make art from art, riffing off each other and creating new languages. Hodgkin's ‘Moroccan Door’ embodies this conversation across time, adding his own unique intonation.