When the Plains Were His 1906

Charles Russell’s painting, *When the Plains Were His* swirls with ochre, burnt umber, and sienna in a landscape that is both immediate and mythic. Imagine Russell, armed with his brushes, trying to capture not just a scene, but a feeling—a nostalgic echo of a time slipping away. Look at how the figures on horseback emerge from the textured ground, strokes of paint becoming both earth and sky. There is a raw, almost urgent quality to the brushwork. I imagine Russell thinking about Remington, maybe even trying to outdo him with a rawer, more heartfelt portrayal. The lead rider, a stoic figure, is rendered with dabs of light that catch his face, making him the focal point of the piece. Think of the sheer physicality of applying paint to canvas, each dab a decision, a negotiation between memory, observation, and feeling. Like all paintings, it feels like a statement, a question, and a memory all rolled into one.