Delderfield, D.

Delderfield kept a jar of wet brushes on the radiator in his London flat and painted only between 9 and 11 a.m.—after the postman passed and before the neighbors’ radio turned on. The quietest corners of the city were his studio: a corner pub, a backstreet yard, the blank side of a warehouse in Bermondsey. Look up his untitled 1960 watercolour of the Thames at low tide; it’s a single sheet of paper and a single idea—light hitting the mud and making it glow—so spare it feels like a held breath.