Winter 1910

Vilhelms Purvitis made this painting, Winter, with oil on canvas. There’s something so still and quiet here. I can imagine Purvitis layering the paint, trying to capture that muted light on the snow and the way the trees reach up like dark, feathery fingers. I wonder if he was out in the cold, sketching, feeling the chill, trying to find just the right gray for those heavy clouds? Those bare trees clustered together, they’re so delicate and strong at the same time. It's like he’s caught a moment of suspended animation, where everything is waiting, holding its breath. Painting is always an act of reaching across time, isn’t it? Artists are constantly talking to each other, borrowing, and pushing back. We’re all just trying to figure out how to make sense of the world, one brushstroke at a time.