After hours of media and song and dart guns and bicycles; after beef steaks and potatoes and wine and coffeepots; bottles, chairs, trees, books and magazines, dictionaries and paintings–after all these things, I want nothing. I want light in an empty room. I want sleep after the light leaves. I want love. I want more sleep. I pray for sleep and silence and the comfort of light, rather than light’s impending morning doom. Yes, I admit it, morning light frightens me because it means another noisy, busy day and no more chance to sleep. I hate to say it, but I love sleep in the same way I love any treasure I can’t have. I covet it, stupid distant mirage!
If you could fall headlong into a painting, which painting would it be?