M. L. McClure

M. L. McClure kept a studio above a butcher shop in Chicago, where the smell of meat loaf drifted up through the floorboards while they painted. They used a palette knife more than a brush, scraping away at layers of oil like they were peeling back the city’s gritty skin. If you like the raw, unpolished edges of Ashcan School work, try their Untitled (September 1901), a sidewalk scene that feels less like a picture and more like a slice of pavement you could stub your toe on.