Egon Schiele made this drawing of a woman in what looks like watercolor and pencil – quick, and from the gut. I love the way that the green headscarf is just laid on there, a big patch of pure color. Schiele was great at that – plunking down a shape to counter the nervous energy of the lines. Look at the woman's torso; the lines are scratchy and searching, as if he's trying to grab hold of something fleeting. The red dots of the nipples are so subtle, yet they totally make the drawing. It's like he's using color as punctuation, you know? There's a tension between the flatness of the colors and the depth he's trying to create with the shading. Makes me think of Matisse, but with a darker, more angsty vibe. Art’s just one big conversation, a back and forth that never really ends, does it?