Thunderstorm Passed Over 1963

John Bratby’s painting, Thunderstorm Passed Over, probably made with oil on canvas, is all about process. It feels like Bratby is not trying to depict what he sees but trying to figure out what paint can do, and how fast. The materiality of the paint is so present. It's thick, chunky, almost like he's sculpting with it. Notice the fence, it’s not just a fence; it’s a series of loaded brushstrokes, each mark distinct, each dab a little explosion of color. The way the artist applies paint, with a kind of raw urgency, it reminds me a little of de Kooning, that same sense of wrestling with the medium, trying to pin down a feeling rather than a photographic likeness. It’s like Bratby is having a conversation, or an argument, with the paint itself, and we get to eavesdrop. There's a tension between representation and abstraction, a push and pull that keeps the eye moving. Painting isn’t just about showing, it’s about feeling and thinking, and Bratby lets us feel him feeling.