The Germ of the Night 1937

Jacques Hérold conjured *The Germ of the Night* with oils, likely piecing it together intuitively over time. The palette here is so earthy, grounding us in browns and tans, yet the forms are totally otherworldly. I imagine Hérold in his studio, wrestling with these biomorphic shapes, layering paint to build up texture, scraping back to reveal what lies beneath. There's a push and pull, a dance between control and chance. Look at the way those tendrils snake across the canvas, evoking veins, roots, maybe even thoughts materializing. That little purple orb pulsates with unrealized potential, doesn't it? Surrealism is like that, a window into the subconscious, into a dream. Hérold knew his stuff. Artists like him and Gorky were in conversation, both plumbing the depths of the imagination. Painting becomes a record of that exploration. It's about uncertainty, about embracing the unknown. It's a process of becoming.