“Philip Guston’s voice is like a clarinet, surprisingly high for the drooping solidity of his body. His eyebrows are white, his hands mitts with a cigarette wedged in. It’s 1980 and he is filmed from the point of acceptance after excommunication, fortified by his strength of judgement and a belief in continuity through change. There’s a powerful honesty in how he corrects himself often, until he uncovers an answer that feels true. He paints a raggedy patch on a Klansman’s dumb hood, the line stuttering masterfully. By the end of the film, the painting has disappeared, scraped down for something with more weight to come. He would die that year.”