Untitled 1954

Cy Twombly made this untitled painting, and right away, I want to know, what was he thinking? It's all these scribbles and marks, chaotic lines dancing on the canvas. I see the ghostly remains of layering, pentimenti, as though he began, and then began again, and again. How many erasures are captured in that white field? I think of Cy, standing before this canvas, charcoal in hand, letting his mind wander and his hand follow, maybe thinking of the great masters who came before him. There's a rawness to his mark-making, a kind of immediacy, as though he's trying to capture a fleeting thought or feeling. It reminds me of my own process, the way I build up layers of paint and then scrape them away, searching for something elusive. The act of painting is in itself a conversation, an exchange of ideas across time. We, as artists, are inspired by each other's creativity, embracing ambiguity and uncertainty, allowing for multiple interpretations and meanings over fixed or definitive readings.