Blossoming Trees 1938

Curator: I see a field ablaze with color, almost aggressively cheerful. Is this joy, or something…else? Editor: Welcome. We’re standing before “Blossoming Trees,” a 1938 oil painting by William H. Johnson. It’s a scene brimming with vibrant flora and broad swathes of color in that expressionist style. It seems joyful enough to me, perhaps tinged with nostalgia, though, given the artist's own complex experience as a Black man in the 20th century, a feeling of hope that could soon be vanquished? Curator: It feels performative, almost. The colors don’t quite sit right together; the perspective is…off. Maybe that’s what strikes me. Like the cheerfulness is a mask. Editor: Johnson’s use of impasto, applying paint so thickly you can almost feel the textures on your fingertips, draws from the Fauvist tradition. Do you see the flattening of the picture plane, pushing all the elements forward? I wonder, does that distortion convey what you describe as “performance”? Is it about the construction of a facade, or perhaps a challenge to typical landscape conventions of that period? Curator: It's almost childlike in its rendering. Reminds me of elementary school art class, where anything goes so long as you *feel* something. And that immediacy— maybe *that’s* the real emotion peeking through? Editor: It is true that he adopted a deliberate primitivism, aiming for a raw honesty in his works. When situated within discussions around identity, representation, and cultural expression, particularly regarding African American experiences, what do you think "honesty" meant in Johnson’s painting during that time? Did abstraction offer him a sense of freedom? Curator: Maybe it offered safety. Obscurity, almost. It allows the feeling to be there without naming it, like a hum that you can't quite place the tune of. Editor: Johnson used simplification to make a bold, deeply personal statement in an era of blatant prejudice. These blossoming trees stand as testaments to enduring beauty—perhaps as symbols of strength in times of struggle. Curator: Maybe these aren't just pretty blossoms after all. There’s defiance here, quiet but insistent. The trees bloom, despite everything. Editor: Right—they stubbornly insist. Next, let’s move toward his street scene.