by (signed) ‘Reg/yo’ (?)
Untitled
circa 1930s (?)
A picture whose rustic strokes define an anonymous pledge of passion, here is a scene beautified by the timeless undertone of simplicity. The hands that once flitted across the board of paper, surely as coarse and thick then as it remains today, channelled an impression that was immediate and profound to the observer’s eye. Something characterised this moment in time as purposeful; as meant to be translated by and through the keen fingers of one who recognised the specific beat of its short-lived heart. Maybe this something lay in the way the patches of snow scaled the tree’s bark; in the scattered scintillation of gritty ground beneath the cart’s wheels and the horse’s hooves, encircling the onion-domed church; or possibly in the steely skies themselves, blanketing the square in a peculiar warmth not commonly exuded by grey tones. Unassuming and humble, this vignetted village centre slumbers with an ease that is oblivious to the passing of time. Its painted ambiance emulates a calm, sluggish way of life, one that is both paced and unchanging, regardless of what might live beyond its protective mountains or, indeed, its carton surface.
