Scheherazade 1917

Pyotr Konchalovsky's 'Scheherazade', well, it's a trip into colour, a kind of fauve explosion meets Russian textile design. I can imagine Konchalovsky attacking the canvas, layering those brushstrokes, thick and juicy, building up a surface that vibrates with energy. Just look at the way he’s rendered the body, all those earthy tones, pinks and browns, almost sculptural in their intensity, propped up against those cushions that feel like they’ve got stories to tell, patterns within patterns. I'm thinking about Matisse's odalisques, the way he used pattern to flatten space and amp up the visual buzz. You see that energy passed on in Konchalovsky's work, but with a Russian soul, a little more rough-around-the-edges. It’s like he's saying, “I see you, Henri, and I’m gonna riff on that!” Artists, we’re all magpies, picking up shiny bits from each other's nests, making something new.