Tanagra 1918

Childe Hassam made this painting called 'Tanagra' with oil on canvas, but when, exactly, is anyone’s guess. What strikes me is the light – how it seems to melt the forms. It's not about sharp edges; it's about diffusion, like a memory. Look at the way the paint handles the folds of the woman’s dress, those tiny, flickering strokes, how they build into something luminous, almost weightless. The surface isn't smooth; it’s a little rough, a little uneven, which makes the light dance even more. And the colours, they’re not quite real, more like a dream of colours, all muted golds and faded blues. Then there’s the screen behind her, a riot of floral patterns, but even that feels soft, blurred at the edges. Hassam reminds me a little of Bonnard, with his domestic interiors and a similar interest in pattern-making – both playing with the tension between representation and abstraction, leaving us to fill in the blanks. Art isn’t about answers anyway, it’s about endless questions.