Untitled 1949

Joan Ponç, a Catalan artist, painted this untitled dreamscape with oils, maybe sometime in the mid-20th century. It's wild, right? Like a party in your subconscious. I can imagine Ponç in his studio, wrestling with this vision. The colors are muddy and intense, and the forms teeter between figuration and pure abstraction. What's with that floating figure, with one hand that is just a series of lines? It’s like he’s saying, “Here’s a hand, but it's also not a hand – it’s just paint.” And then that little imp in the corner – dark, mysterious, with a red curly tail? It's all so playful, like a kid scribbling in a notebook, but with the weight of a fully formed artistic language behind it. This piece reminds me of Miró, but grittier, more primal. Like Ponç is digging deeper into the subconscious, pulling out these strange, compelling forms. It's a reminder that painting doesn't have to be pretty or perfect; it can be a raw, unfiltered expression of the human condition, a kind of surreal poetry.