Leningrad. Bank Bridge. 1931

Pyotr Konchalovsky made this brisk drawing of Leningrad’s Bank Bridge with pencil on paper, and you can almost feel the graphite. Look at the speed and skill of that winged griffin, the little strokes conjuring up a mythological guardian, and how it contrasts with the blocky buildings behind. You can sense him racing to capture the scene, the architecture looming as he quickly sketches the rhythmic patterns and windows. What’s so amazing here is how the medium itself shapes our experience. The sketchiness becomes the feeling. I can imagine him standing on the bank, the cool air hitting his face, feeling the need to grab a pencil and distill the buildings, bridge, and figures into a few lines. The conversation of artists, it's never-ending, an exchange of ideas, inspiring one another across time. Konchalovsky is talking to us now, isn’t he? With this sketch, he's reminding us that painting embraces ambiguity, allowing for multiple readings, none of which is necessarily definitive.