In this series, the curatorial team presents one work from the Meural art library we find essential. (See all installments.)

It’s my mother’s fault. 15 years ago we went to an exhibition of the paintings of Gwen and Augustus John. Augustus was the more famous sibling—lauded as an extraordinary talent, and famous for his bohemian lifestyle—while Gwen, quiet and withdrawn, was largely overlooked. It seemed to me that their personalities were reflected in their art, and I was immediately drawn to the confident, exuberant, and vibrant paintings of the brother. But my mother stood, for what seemed an eternity, before a single painting of a solitary, anonymous girl—muted, almost monochromatic. When I joined her, she was so absorbed and moved by this small painting that I remember feeling quite unsettled. I quickly walked away, feeling my presence was some gross intrusion.

Truthfully, I can’t recall which of Gwen John’s paintings she was communing with, but I know that John’s work has, ever since, had a profound effect on me. There’s an intense, serene power to her female (always female) subjects. And as I look at them, I look too for my mother. What did she see? What unknown part of her might this painting reveal?

— Poppy Simpson, Head of Curation