The Poets in my house 1953

Jan Cox made "The Poets in my house" using oil on canvas, but when? The date is lost to time. Anyway, this thing feels like a memory, right? A space filled with shapes that hint at figures, washed in these hazy, emotional colors. Look at how the red bleeds into the orange, and how the black figure in the foreground seems to emerge from it all. The paint's not trying to hide anything; you can see every stroke, every decision. I love that feeling of the artist just going for it. There's this one spot, where the red is thick and almost sculptural, like the painting's trying to push itself off the canvas. It reminds me a bit of de Kooning, especially how he used abstraction to capture something deeply human. But Cox has his own voice, a way of making the familiar feel like a dream. It's not about answers; it's about feeling the questions.