Sunflowers 1991

Joan Mitchell's 'Sunflowers' bursts forth in color and gesture, a riot of feeling captured on canvas. The making of art is a process, and here we see it laid bare: the strokes are bold, the colors unapologetic, a dance between control and letting go. Up close, you can almost feel the physicality of the paint. Thick daubs and thin washes create a textured surface, a record of Mitchell's movements. Notice how the blues and reds clash and harmonize, how the drips and splatters add a sense of urgency. There's a particular cluster of strokes, a whirlwind of greens and yellows, that anchors the composition – a little microcosm of the whole. Mitchell, like her contemporary Helen Frankenthaler, expanded the language of abstract painting. But whereas Frankenthaler stained the canvas, Mitchell built up layers, embracing the messiness and unpredictability of the medium. For both artists, the painting is less about representation, and more about the experience of seeing and feeling.