Portrait of Gertrude Russell 1915

Frank Benson captured this girl, Gertrude Russell, in paint, probably with oils, maybe in his studio, maybe with many sittings. I find myself wondering about Gertrude, trying to imagine what it was like to sit for a painting. I wonder how she held still. Her dress feels like the 1890s or so; there’s a looseness and flow to it. I see a cascade of whites, creams, and ivories, so it's not just one note. And that little pink bow, so sweet! But what really gets me going is how the edges of the dress seem to dissolve into the background, like the whole image is breathing, or about to come undone. I feel a kinship with Benson, like we're both trying to chase after something that keeps slipping away. It reminds me that all artists are in conversation with one another, trying to figure out this crazy medium called painting. It embraces ambiguity and uncertainty, allowing for multiple readings. We are all constantly teaching each other how to see, how to feel, and how to be in the world.