With lines that create characters resembling letters drifting across the canvas, Bradley Walker Tomlin seems to have specialized in creating seek-and-finds that you’re destined to lose.

Tomlin’s restrained brushstrokes evoke calligraphy, but not the kind that is really satisfying to look at. Instead, his mysterious characters resemble a language that you almost know but, ultimately, can’t figure out. They recall the hieroglyphic “Little Image” paintings that Lee Krasner made as a reflection of her experience learning Hebrew as a child. Maybe he was interested in the interplay of language and context, and the inherent meaninglessness of the lines that make up the elements of words. Or maybe he spilled a bowl of alphabet soup. We’ll never know.

What we do know is that the 1936 exhibition "Fantastic Art, Dada, Surrealism" at the Museum of Modern Art profoundly influenced Tomlin. At this show, he would have seen the self-contained worlds inside the canvases of artist like Joan Miró, Wassily Kandinsky, and many more. With these examples of the possibilities of abstraction in art lingering in his mind, Tomlin later met the artist Adolph Gottlieb, who introduced him to the titans of Abstract Expressionism: Robert Motherwell, Philip Guston, and Jackson Pollock. After these encounters, Tomlin joined their leagues and began experimenting with automatism to unlock the far reaches of his subconscious mind and get what he found there onto his canvases.

Tomlin was a bit of a late bloomer. He produced many of his best works, including this one, close to the time of his death in 1953. This painting encapsulates the late style he developed in conjunction with the Abstract Expressionists. However, these paintings often have a melancholy, rather than rage-filled, feel. Let’s be real – no happy person uses those colors. His version of Abstract Expressionism is undeniably different from the styles made famous by his contemporaries. Instead of the frenetic energy of drips, splashes, and pours, Tomlin’s lines meander across the canvas in a more calculated way.

This painting found its way into MoMA’s collection by way of the acclaimed architect Philip Johnson. Before launching his own award-winning architectural career, Johnson was MoMA’s first director of the architecture department, and staged controversial shows that introduced Americans to the world of modern European architecture. Johnson donated works by heavy hitters, among them Andy Warhol and Willem de Kooning, many of which are among the masterpieces of the museum’s collection. Unfortunately, all the philanthropy in the world can’t erase Johnson’s history of supporting Nazism, actively supporting fascist ideals and suppressing motions for rights concerning architecture, like equal access to housing in the United States.