The psychologist 1948

René Magritte made "The Psychologist," with oil on canvas; it's 65 by 54 cm. It’s a painting of contrasts, right? A muscular figure—is it Adam?—with his back turned to us. He gazes intently at a delicate pink rose. The paint is smooth, almost like skin, and the colors are muted, except for the flesh and the rose, which seem to glow. I wonder what Magritte was thinking when he painted this. Was he considering the role of the artist as some sort of psychological investigator? The guy is kneeling, almost as if he's in prayer. It's vulnerable. It reminds me a little of Picasso's melancholy figures, or maybe even some of de Chirico’s strange, silent piazzas. Artists—we’re all always looking, always questioning, always trying to make sense of the world, and ourselves, through the act of painting. It's like one big conversation through time, full of questions and no easy answers.