In the Room. Winter 1915

Boris Kustodiev painted 'In the Room. Winter' with oils on canvas, a world of hushed light and interiority. The soft, vertical brushstrokes create a dreamlike space. I imagine him standing back, squinting, maybe muttering to himself as the scene came together, the colours shifting like memories. The walls are thin stripes of yellows and browns, like pale wooden beams. Look how the bright, snow-filled view from the window is framed by dark curtains. It gives the painting a sense of depth. The two figures, one arranging flowers, the other gazing outside, suggest a quiet story unfolding. What were Kustodiev's intentions, I wonder? There's a kinship here with Bonnard, that same intimacy, the sense of capturing a fleeting moment. We painters, we're all looking, borrowing, building on each other's visions. It's about feeling, translating that into something tangible, something that might touch someone else.