Moret 1902

Armand Guillaumin seems to have conjured this river landscape, "Moret," with strokes of oil paint. It's as though he daubed at the canvas, one mark at a time, patiently building up this vision of a quiet sunset by the water. I can imagine him standing there, squinting, trying to grab the way the light shimmers on the surface of the river and bleeds across the sky. There’s an orange-pink haze in the upper part of the canvas that is then reflected in the lower part. The trees on either bank are thick and green-blue but dappled with yellows which gives them an ethereal feeling. It's like he’s trying to capture a feeling as much as a place. The bridge in the distance, that little architectural blip, sits nestled in the composition as if it were an integral part of the landscape. I find myself thinking about other painters, Monet, for instance, and how they were all in conversation with each other, wrestling with similar problems of how to capture the fleeting effects of light and atmosphere. It's nice to think of artists talking to one another across time. These paintings feel like lingering questions, open for us to answer in our own way.