Dear Painter of Today

Dmitri's work at Weir Farm Morning Light

We have watched your brush in the morning light,

and in its motion we recognize our own.

Your colors breathe as ours once breathed—

not as imitation, but as continuation,

a river running clear and true from its source.

Monet smiles at the way your horizon opens;

Morisot nods at the tenderness in your edges;

Sorolla sees the sun shimmering on your waves;

Sargent approves the confident sweep of your hand.

Mitchell, Kandinsky, Kahn—

they hear the jazz in your color,

the rhythm that turns pigment into music.

You have understood what we feared the world might forget:

That Impressionism is not a style locked in the past—

it is a living language,

spoken in the pulse of light,

in the waltz of shadow,

in the boogaloo of color, and the ballet of form.

Now, you add your own verse to the song.

Your Then and Now is the bridge we hoped for—

the prism still sparking,

the color wheel still turning with feel,

the seasons still shifting through your hands.

So we pass the brush to you,

knowing the dance continues—each stroke a promise,

each painting a love letter in return.

With eternal light and unending color,

The Impressionists

By Dmitri Wright