Untitled [head of a reclining woman] 1955 - 1967

Richard Diebenkorn made this drawing of a reclining woman using charcoal on paper. Looking at it, I see a symphony of marks, a dance between light and shadow, forming a face in repose. I can imagine Diebenkorn's hand moving across the paper, each stroke a thought, a feeling, an attempt to capture the essence of the figure before him. I feel for the artist, wrestling with the medium, coaxing the charcoal to reveal the subtle contours of the woman's face, her closed eyes, her relaxed posture. It's like he’s asking: How can I convey the weight of a body, the softness of skin, with just a few lines? The smudged charcoal creates a dreamy effect, obscuring details while hinting at hidden depths. It reminds me of other artists like de Kooning, who weren’t afraid to leave things unresolved, embracing the messy, uncertain nature of the creative process. I think artists are always talking to each other, even across time, and that’s what keeps the conversation going.