Deerfield River 1942

Donald Carlisle Greason made Deerfield River with fluid strokes of ink and delicate washes of grey. I can almost feel him there, bending over the paper, deciding what to keep in and what to leave out. There’s a dance between control and accident happening, right? Look at how the ink bleeds, creating these soft edges and blurred shapes. It’s like Greason is letting the water do some of the work, surrendering to the unpredictable nature of the medium. The barest of marks suggest so much. The confident strokes that define the trees feel so immediate. The way the light filters through the leaves. He’s probably looking at Cezanne. Or maybe Chinese landscape painting. All painters look to the past! Anyway, the painting feels like a momentary glimpse, a fleeting impression. And that's what painting is. It’s an ongoing conversation, across time and space. It’s not about answers, but about embracing uncertainty, and staying in the question.