Fiori 1952

Giorgio Morandi made this painting, Fiori, with oil on canvas. The muted palette, mostly browns, tans and creams, whispers of a process of layering, of adding and subtracting. See how the paint is thin, almost translucent, in places, allowing the canvas to peek through, while elsewhere, it's built up, creating a delicate texture. It’s like Morandi is feeling his way through the image, one careful stroke at a time. I love the way Morandi suggests the form of the flowers with such economy, there's a kind of stubborn poetry at play in that little patch of reddish brown, a sort of tonal vibration in the mass of the flowers. It reminds me of some of those early Cezanne paintings, a still life turned into an entire universe. Morandi’s paintings are never just about what they depict; they’re about the act of seeing, the quiet contemplation of everyday objects, and the magic that happens when we slow down and really look.