René Magritte, Gertrude Abercrombie, and Alex Katz Feel Like Summer
And other seasonal ramblings
"Artists that feel like summer" began as a series of notes I posted on Substack (it should have read "artists who feel like summer or "art that feels like summer," but I am grammatically lax on notes, so let's stick with the original). They were a way to express the distinct language of summer, its magic, melancholy, and whimsy. The notes resonated and quickly became my most popular.
So today, I'm turning those ephemeral thoughts into something more substantial, blending the visual aesthetics of summer with language. And I'm starting with René Magritte.
René Magritte:
René Magritte's paintings feel like an invitation to indulge in the stranger side of summer. His aim was philosophical: to challenge the viewer's perception of reality, and doesn't reality always feel a bit tenuous in summer? The way the days lose structure, how they blend into one another, how time moves in funny ways.
Past and present blend in the summer, and childhood nostalgia returns, striking with fresh, emotional force; old friends appear without a preamble as if they have always been there. There is a tension between the familiar and the bizarre. In summer, we drift between comfort and curiosity. It is a time of homecoming and of exploration. You might spend a slow and languid day lounging with a favorite book and the evening dancing under the stars with strangers. Summer is a threshold between rest and risk, between ritual and reinvention.
Take Magritte’s famous apple, captioned Ceci n’est pas une pomme (This is not an apple). And isn't fruit different in the summer? The taste is sweeter, the symbolic meaning dripping from each bite. It holds the essence of the season: lush, fleeting, full of promise.
Magritte's aim was not to create fantasy for its own sake but to provoke thought by revealing the strangeness all around us. To him, fantasy was about making the familiar unfamiliar so that we could see reality anew. Always with a subtle sense of humor, like summer, decadent, witty, curious, and strange.
Magritte's work feels like permission to get weird, to surrender to fantasy, to wear fewer clothes—or no clothes at all—to experiment, flirt, be curious, and get a little unhinged. It is a time to mingle with the mythical creatures that exist in perpetual summer, unicorns and nymphs endlessly trapped in a lush dreamscape. And doesn't summer always feel endless? Until, all at once, it's over.
Gertrude Abercrombie:
Gertrude Abercrombie's tiny paintings carry the strength of a summer storm. They are dark, mysterious, and brooding. Emotionally dense, psychologically potent. Her work blends surrealism with stark emotional introspection, often veering into the uncanny. There is a sense of intimacy and weight to her tightly composed paintings. Her imagery captures the melancholy that lies just beneath the surface of summer, churning and building pressure.
Abercrombie's work is the antidote to the unrelenting sun, which can begin to feel oppressive as its brightness turns blinding and the warmth overwhelming. Her work urges the viewer to give in to the cloying heat and be still.
Her paintings often feature barren landscapes or a solitary woman rendered in stormy grays, muddy browns, and midnight blues. They capture an urge to be alone, to turn inward. To let your mind and body settle. It serves as a reminder that summer is a time for restoration and reflection.
Abercrombie's paintings ask you to plant your feet in the middle of a storm and let it rage around you. To allow the anger of the tempestuous seas to build inside of you. It is a reminder not to let the spell of summer dull your senses but instead to feel it all, the pain, the sadness, the anger. Let it grow in strength and intensity until it takes over, until you become the storm.
Her work is also the calm that follows; when the light returns diffused, the leaves stop trembling, and the world exhales. After the swells break, a silence spreads, and we find ourselves reassembled. Emotions, intense and inevitable, have crested and crashed. The waves recede, leaving behind a glassy stillness, a strengthened, softened, slightly weathered version of ourselves. Colors once again sharpen, and we are ready to embrace the sun.
Alex Katz:
Alex Katz's paintings are the result of those colors sharpening. He captures how summer comes into focus – bright and joyful, full of warm, sunny yellows, punchy oranges, lush greens, and deep cobalt blues rendered in their most vibrant hues. If Abercrombie's work forces us to look inward, Katz does the opposite. It invites us to see summer as it is, to experience it in all its colors, textures, sounds, and smells. To feel the sand between your toes and the sun on your face.
Looking at Katz's paintings of a beach, you can hear the sound of the gulls and the crashing of the waves, even if they aren't part of the composition. His work is literal. Summer for Katz is a season of immediacy. His uncomplicated style demands presence.
Katz paints summer like a childhood memory: uninterrupted, innocent, and endless. Ice cream, warm water, the sun that never stops shining, and grass that is always lush and green. The days are never too hot, and the breeze is always gentle. His style is bold, with crisp outlines and a strong graphic quality.
Katz's paintings evoke the weightless, suspended feeling of summer afternoons, the sense of time stretching or standing still. His subjects are captured in moments of casual elegance, deep enjoyment, and presence. He renders summer in its most distilled form. His work invites us to let the internal dialogue go and to participate in all of summer's joy. To run your hands through the water and feel the breeze on your skin.
Summer Things:
Doing:
Gardening. For the first time ever, I've started a fruit and vegetable garden, and I love it. In fact, I am making gardening my whole summer personality. It's grounding and oddly intellectual. I spend long, lazy mornings (or golden, post-dinner evenings) pulling weeds while my kids run around barefoot. Sometimes, my mom joins, and we talk for hours with our hands in the soil.
Leaving my phone in my office in my attempt to be more present (in reality, it means people calling my husband to get a hold of me, but it's still a lot less screen time).
Watching my kids do the same things I did at their age: playing in the lake, poking around the woods, making up games with rocks and sticks. Sometimes, the kids of my childhood friends join. It feels full circle in the most beautiful way—innocent and joyfully analog.

Reading:
My kids' summer reading lists inspired me to make my own. I wanted a mix of joy, melancholy, intellect, and fun. Then I read
post:and decided to start Volume I: Swann's Way. I fear it might take me all summer.
Before I started Proust, I finished A Canticle for Leibowitz. It was emotionally heavy but fulfilling. The perfect kind of existential sci-fi.
The rest of my list is a real mixed bag:
Fiction:
To the Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf
Snow Crash - Neal Stephenson
Pattern Recognition - William Gibson
Non-Fiction (I try to alternate):
Out of This Century: The Autobiography of Peggy Guggenheim
Searches: Selfhood in the digital age by Vauhini Vara
Aspiration, The Agency of Becoming by Agnes Callard (also inspired by
)
Drinking:
I’ve been making pitchers of iced tea with mint, basil, and strawberries from the garden. I steep the herbs, then pour the mixture over ice and add fresh berries. It’s been a hit with guests and the perfect antidote to the sticky, hot Northeast weather.

Eating:
I hosted a dinner at the lake the other night with Chef Kyle Eakins, a friend and frequent collaborator. It was the perfect summer dinner, so I asked him to write it up for you.

From Kyle:
Being immersed in such a serene waterfront setting inspired this French-style menu, centered around rich sauces, roasted and grilled meats, and thoughtfully crafted side dishes designed to complement each component with intention.
The concept of duality — or the “yin and yang” of a meal — is often overlooked, but it’s just as essential in menu planning as it is in many aspects of life. Richness craves balance through acidity and freshness, and both elements are enhanced by starches that soak up and carry their flavors.
This meal was built around that philosophy:
• Grilled chicken and pork loin served with a Dijon mustard jus made from deeply reduced stock, spiked with both whole grain and smooth Dijon mustard, and finished with a touch of honey for warmth and subtle sweetness to complement the lean meats.
• Pan-seared scallops and wagyu steak accompanied by a black pepper au poivre sauce — made with an umami-rich scallop stock, lots of black pepper, and shallots — bold enough to match the grilled steak while adding elegance and depth to the delicate scallops.
• A simple salad of mixed greens, French green beans, tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs, and a shallot-sherry vinaigrette that offers a bright, acidic punch to cut through the richness of the meats.
• Summer vegetable ratatouille made with white-roasted vegetables, gently stewed in white wine and tomatoes, and finished with a generous handful of garden-fresh herbs.
• Whole baby potatoes, simmered until creamy on the inside, then roasted until golden and crisp, tossed with plenty of herbs and served alongside a warm garlic bread baguette — perfect for soaking up every last bit of flavor.
• And of course, s’mores, because something chocolatey and sweet at the end is a must.
Kyle provides chef services for events, expert restaurant consulting, and private chef placements for those who want restaurant-quality meals in the comfort of their home. Find him at Allow Us, NYC.
That’s all for today! Thanks for reading!
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