Portrait of E. Solntseva, sister of artist 1914

Zinaida Serebriakova painted her sister, E. Solntseva, with what looks like oil on canvas and a whole lot of love. The warm hues give it a familial glow, right? I imagine Zinaida, brush in hand, trying to capture not just her sister’s likeness, but that glint in her eye, that almost-smile. The sister’s gaze meets ours, steady and kind. You can feel the weight of the book in her hands, see the gentle folds of her blouse. Painting, for me, is like a conversation. What was she thinking as she built up those layers? Did she pause, step back, squint, and then add a touch more pink to the cheeks? The beauty is in that back-and-forth, the push and pull between intention and accident. Like life, right? You start with an idea, and then the world—or the canvas—takes over. Artists, we’re all just riffing off each other, across time, trying to make sense of this messy, beautiful world. Painting is such an intimate dance with the unknown, a way of feeling our way through.