This is Balthus' painting "Andre Derain" here at MoMA, but we don't know exactly when it was made, or with what. What I see first is the mark-making; it’s all about the surface, right? Balthus is laying down thin layers, almost like fresco, building the image slowly, and it gives this stillness to the composition. Look closely at the man’s hand, placed so formally on his chest. There’s something both deliberate and awkward about it, and the colour of his dressing gown, that ochre, almost golden shade, brings a sense of warmth. Then you notice the young girl in the background, almost an afterthought, adding an unsettling dimension. There’s an intimacy here, but it's strange and distant. For me, it feels a bit like stepping into a dream, or maybe a half-remembered photograph. I see echoes of Courbet’s realism in Balthus' work, that same interest in portraying figures with an honest and almost unflinching gaze. But like all great art, it resists easy answers. What do you make of it?