Galathée 1976

Joan Miró made this print, Galathée, with lithographic ink, etching, and layering. It has these dominant black lines that almost look like they've been lassoed onto the paper. I can imagine Miró making this, starting with the big shapes, intuitively, and then adding the details like the little bursts of color. Maybe he was thinking about the cosmos, or microscopic organisms. I see a lot of playful biomorphic forms, shapes that suggest life but aren't quite anything specific. These shapes are outlined in thick black, like shadows, and then filled with blocks of primary colors. Then there are the lines—they shoot out like rays, or maybe they're just doodles, marks of pure energy. I’m drawn to the lower part of the print where you see this scribbled nest of dark, tangled lines that contrast with the more open, airy spaces elsewhere. This makes me think about how abstraction can be a language all its own. You know, painters are always in conversation, so I wonder who Miró was thinking about when he made this. Maybe he was even thinking about you, imaging how the painting might make you feel!