Black Discs over Red Plain 1964

Alexander Calder made ‘Black Discs over Red Plain’ in 1964, probably using gouache. The red plane sits boldly, confidently, across the middle of the painting and is punctuated by cut-out shapes. Above, two black disks float, gently pushing against the pale ground, their solid forms suggesting celestial bodies in motion. I can imagine Calder, maybe with a playful glint in his eye, enjoying the flat planes and the surprise of the black discs hovering above like notes on a musical score. There’s a lightness and directness, a kind of visual haiku that’s very much in line with his mobiles. The red is applied with an openness, and the ovals in the red feel like a direct cut into form. Then there is that one oval with the bars, a kind of wheel that is about to start turning? Calder isn’t just showing us how to look, but how to engage with forms, how to let them dance and play, very much like Joan Miró or even Paul Klee. It's all part of the ongoing conversation among artists, echoing and inspiring each other across time. Painting, at its best, is an open-ended question.