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If the morning light is dim enough, everything in the room seems to emerge on its own. White dog, red sofa, brown wicker chair, glow, with no outlines. Green world out the far window, usually much brighter, has never seemed so endlessly green. The less I can see of my hands and the page, the more I write. Light recedes, reality advances.
One Painter’s Perspective
It’s natural, but funny, that we say the light changes. The light never changes.