Autumn 1983

Mikhail Olennikov made this oil painting of a golden, autumnal landscape in Russia. It feels like a painter's painting, you know? I can see him outside, or maybe from a window, carefully laying down these strokes, one after another, trying to capture the light on the fields and the shape of the distant hills. The colors are muted, earthy – ochres, yellows, and browns – like the end of summer just before the snow comes. Look how he's built up the surface with layers of paint. You can almost feel the breeze and smell the earth. The way he painted the trees in the foreground is a marvel, each brushstroke defining the shape and volume with such economy. I imagine him thinking about Corot or the Russian landscape painters, but doing his own thing, finding his own way of seeing. Painting is this ongoing conversation, this dialogue across time. Olennikov absorbed what came before and made something new, something personal. And now, here we are, looking at it, adding our own thoughts to the mix.