Roy Lichtenstein’s Brushstroke (C. 45), 1967, is one of the artist’s most iconic contributions to his ongoing interrogation of painting, representation, and the act of creation itself. Executed as a screen print, the work transforms what would traditionally be a spontaneous, expressive gesture—a painter’s brushstroke—into a flat, mechanical, and reproducible image. By doing so, Lichtenstein both celebrates and critiques the myths of artistic genius and originality that dominated modernist discourse.

At first glance, the print appears to capture a bold, dynamic flick of paint: sweeping arcs of black and cream, interlaced with a red and yellow swath that suggests energy and momentum. Yet, upon closer inspection, the illusion of spontaneity collapses. Instead of textured impasto or gestural flourish, the image is constructed from Lichtenstein’s hallmark Ben-Day dots, heavy outlines, and flat planes of color. What should be a visceral, physical trace of the artist’s hand is instead a mediated, mass-produced sign of a brushstroke.

This paradox lies at the heart of Brushstroke. By rendering the most fundamental unit of painting—the stroke of the brush—as an object of reproduction, Lichtenstein makes a meta-commentary on art’s very process of creation. The work becomes self-reflexive: a painting (or print) about the act of painting, a gesture about gestures. In turning the brushstroke into an icon, Lichtenstein strips it of its expressive authenticity while simultaneously immortalizing it as a symbol.

The piece also positions itself within a dialogue with Abstract Expressionism, the movement that defined American painting in the 1940s and 1950s. Artists like Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, and Franz Kline had elevated the brushstroke to a performative, almost spiritual act—a pure extension of the artist’s psyche. Lichtenstein, by contrast, mechanizes and commodifies that act, recontextualizing it within Pop Art’s fascination with mass culture and reproduction. The brushstroke is no longer a direct trace of the self but rather a cultural signifier, as reproducible as a comic strip panel or an advertisement.

In this way, Brushstroke is both ironic and reverent. It pokes fun at the solemnity of Abstract Expressionism while acknowledging the enduring power of its gestures. The scale and boldness of Lichtenstein’s rendering imbue the stroke with monumentality, even as its flatness undermines any claim to authenticity. It is a paradox that defines Lichtenstein’s practice: by emptying the gesture of its original meaning, he allows it to take on new significance as commentary.

Ultimately, Brushstroke (C. 45) can be read as a witty and incisive reflection on what it means to create, to replicate, and to ascribe meaning to marks on a surface. It elevates the brushstroke to the status of subject matter, simultaneously demystifying the act of painting and situating it within the broader circulation of images in contemporary culture.