This painting is all about mood, and the mood is dire. The central section of the painting gets right to this point with a conglomeration of figurative components that seem thrown together by circumstance—faces, shoes, a canvas on an easel, a tumbler with ice, and several curving, tubular forms. Like me, they are trapped within the painting. Here, the paint strokes are shorter and more vertical. The plus-minus brushwork is more prevalent as the forms seem to be built out of paint. They are heavy with paint, which isn’t helping their cause as they seem to sink into the murky water. The figurative elements are mostly pinks and reds, like meat; they are the color we all share beneath our skin. This palate is common in Guston’s paintings. It isn’t pleasant, but it is familiar—which is another way to hold me here in this slightly uncomfortable engagement with the painting and, by extension, the artist. Guston’s colors suggest vulnerability, like that of the subjects of Wharf in the desperate circumstances in which they find themselves. Guston has included himself in the dilemma that he has created, with a self-portrait on the far right, framed by a canvas on an easel. As I view the painting and consider the questions it has me asking and the responses I’m receiving, I feel that the conversation we (the painting and I) have had has contributed to its completion and that it will be made all over again with the next viewer who accepts Guston’s invitation to discuss the issues at hand as they develop in Wharf.