Erythea 1971

Norman Bluhm made this painting, Erythea, with a kind of generous, sweeping set of gestures, almost like he was conducting an orchestra. The color palette, though limited, feels expansive in its subtlety. There's something so luscious about the surface, isn't there? Look at how the creamy whites collide with the stark blacks, and how that dreamy lavender kind of holds them both together. The paint application feels really physical, you can almost feel Bluhm's arm moving as he laid down those strokes. Notice that band of red across the middle, it's like a pulse, a vibrant heart beating within the composition. Then there are those thin, almost scribbled lines of white, floating on the surface like fleeting thoughts. It reminds me a bit of Joan Mitchell's work, especially her later paintings where she's really pushing the boundaries of color and form. Ultimately, a painting like this is a conversation, an ongoing dialogue between the artist, the materials, and us, the viewers. It’s not about arriving at a fixed meaning, but about embracing the ambiguity and letting the painting speak to you in its own way.