Man, ten halven lijve c. 1925s

Isaac Israels made this quick drawing, Man, ten halven lijve, with graphite on paper. It’s like a fleeting thought, barely there, but so complete. You can see the artist making decisions on the fly, the initial marks feeling out the space. There’s this one stroke that defines the shadow on the man’s face—it’s so economical, so sure. I wonder if Israels knew this guy, or if he was just capturing a type. The line is kind of nervous, but also confident, like a jazz solo. I bet Israels was looking at some of the French masters, maybe Degas or Manet. They were all trying to capture the immediacy of modern life, and you can see that impulse here. It reminds you that artists are always in conversation with each other, across time and place, riffing on the same themes, pushing the boundaries of what painting and drawing can do.