Chalet in the Mountains 1938

William H. Johnson built this little town out of oil paint, with some blues and yellows that really pop. I can almost see him, standing there, moving the paint around, pushing the boundaries. The houses are outlined with confident strokes, filled with colors that don’t quite match but somehow feel right together. Look at that roof, how the dark blue is just plopped on, thick and juicy! I bet Johnson wasn't trying to make things perfect. It’s like he’s saying, "Here's what I see, take it or leave it." That little splash of white, right above the central building, feels like a moment of pure joy or like a mistake he decided to keep. There's a conversation happening here, between colors, between forms, between the artist and the painting itself. It reminds me of how we all riff off each other, artists building on the past, making something new. And it’s never really done, is it?