Landscape 1930

Kmetty János’s Landscape is a painting, probably in oil, where the artist seems to be figuring out how much information is needed to create the illusion of a scene. It’s like he's asking, what's the bare minimum? Looking at the church on the horizon, it’s rendered in the simplest of shapes, like a child’s drawing. Then your eye travels down to the figure in the foreground, walking with a scythe over his shoulder, composed of similarly simple forms. There's a tension here in the surface of the painting, between thin washes of color and thicker strokes that feel more deliberate. It makes me think of other artists, like Milton Avery, who also knew how to distill a scene to its essence. This picture has a kind of quiet beauty. It’s not trying to impress you with skill, but rather to invite you into its world with a certain openness. Like, art isn't about answers, but about opening up questions.