Painting Stories
They Don't Know
The morning chose the chair. White light lies along the backrest, the armrests, the legs — thin and exact, as if someone had drawn it downward and missed no edge.
They Don't Know
The morning chose the chair. White light lies along the backrest, the armrests, the legs — thin and exact, as if someone had drawn it downward and missed no edge.
Noon That Doesn't Believe Itself
This hour, stone stops being stone. The arches lose their edges, the cornices dissolve into a sky that has stopped being sky too.
Noon That Doesn't Believe Itself
This hour, stone stops being stone. The arches lose their edges, the cornices dissolve into a sky that has stopped being sky too.