The Brooklyn Rail

I unknowingly grew up with Graham’s work—a compact but punchy scene of bathers on a beach in a purple painted frame that still hangs in the entryway of my parents’ apartment. It was the first work of art they purchased together, in the late 1980s, some thirty years before I would come to know Graham and his work—almost by accident—of my own accord. I encountered Graham’s work properly and in depth through the lens of Paul Cézanne, whose portraits I had been studying in relation to the Met’s 2014 exhibition, Madame Cézanne, curated by Dita Amory, Graham’s extraordinary wife. Experiencing the two artists in dialogue and across media revealed fundamental aspects of Graham’s subjects, style, command of color (even in black and white), arrangement of forms, and distinctive mark-making that rank his work among the greatest modern artists of our time.

After taking a Drawing Marathon with Graham, I remember feeling like I was wearing special glasses—not just in the way I looked at art but in my field of vision. Walking through the park, the spaces between branches held as much structural significance as the trees themselves, crowds could be broken down into volumetric shapes, and my perception of what was near or far felt mapped across a picture plane. I still think of Graham when I see a spectacular sunset, a stoic sprawling tree, or trailing tracks of sand on the beach. My love of charcoal, watercolor, big drawing, figures seen from behind, multi-part paintings, and monumental scenes of everyday life has everything to do with Graham’s work, his incisive eye, and his generous instruction.