Wherever the morning light falls is struck with a certain timelessness. In those slanted rays, objects are transformed into elements in a still life made for contemplation. They are elevated from things one uses into things that simply are. The light of the morning not only enframes, it penetrates, it reveals; it is truth. In the morning, light and shadow are actors that play across the room in tableaux. A good room holds the light, carefully, so that all things within it glow radiantly.
Because the light is not something you see, exactly. You don’t look at it, or breathe, you feel a pressure but you don’t look. It is like being in the same room as a man you love. 156