Reading Woman with Parasol 1921

Henri Matisse made this scene with oils, and the whole thing feels like a sun-drenched afternoon nap. The greens are so lush, and the way he’s built the colour up makes it look like the light is actually shimmering off the surface. I love how he's let the paint do its thing; the marks are so immediate, so sure. I imagine him outside with his easel, squinting, dabbing, really feeling the warmth. And that green—it's like he's trying to capture the very essence of life. You can feel the rhythm of his brushstrokes, how he’s laid down each dab of colour, feeling for the shape of the book, the tilt of the hat. It’s kind of like how we, as painters, are always chasing that elusive feeling, trying to pin down a moment, a mood, with just colour and form. Matisse was always looking to Bonnard, and the other Post-Impressionists for new ways of doing things. That is what is so great about painting, the way the conversation continues across decades and generations.