Peterhof. Cavaliers soap. 1931

Here's Konchalovsky's painting of Peterhof, probably made with oils, maybe even casein, given that matte surface and the way the colours sit so calmly together. You know, it's funny how the simplest scenes can become these little worlds when you start pushing paint around. I can imagine him layering that pale yellow for the building, scratching in the bare branches of the trees. The reflection in the water is so immediate and raw—not trying to be photographic, more like an echo or a feeling. It's like he's not just painting what he sees, but also how it feels to be there, in the cold, looking at this place. It reminds me a little of some of Milton Avery's paintings, with that same kind of quiet observation. Painting is just a form of embodied expression, with its ambiguities and uncertainties. We are always in conversation with one another, across time, always inspiring and fuelling each other's creativity.