Sun in an Empty Room: Edward Hopper at His Best

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? 

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