The river runs green as jade between the mountains, so calm that every colour above it appears again below. On either side, limestone peaks rise straight up from the water in rounded towers, one behind another, fading into the distance like the teeth of a giant comb.
These are not grey mountains. Their slopes blaze with colour: emerald and viridian where the forest clings, gold and cadmium yellow where the sun strikes bare rock, streaks of pink and magenta-violet in the shadows. It is how the place might feel rather than how it would photograph, every colour turned up and allowed to sing.
At the foot of the peaks, sandy banks curve along the river's edge in warm ochre and orange, fringed with bright red grasses. Bushes cluster at the water in round green mounds. Overhead, big cream clouds roll across a clear cerulean sky, puffed and soft, their undersides tinted blue.
Near the lower right, a single bamboo raft drifts with the current. A small figure in a straw hat stands at the back, leaning on a long pole, guiding the raft along without hurry. A small barrel or bundle sits on the deck. The figure is tiny against the towering peaks, but it is the heart of the picture, a reminder that people have travelled this river for centuries.
The painting is made in the bold spirit of the Fauves, with flat areas of pure, saturated colour and confident brushstrokes left visible on the surface. Shadows are blue and violet rather than grey, and nothing is mixed into mud. The result is a scene that feels warm, joyful and full of light, a river journey on the brightest morning of the year.