28 September 2007. Scraggly dragon cloud whisping over white patch, heavy layers of gray tom tom, rain soon, rain soon, standing white lamp post--arched sentinel to the gods, silhouette, and tucked away under the eaves, run of warm interior light--constancy of the 7-eleven. Constanz--how we searched, the Dutch painter of atmosphere--was that it?--not so strident as Karl Appel Or Kiefer, before. "He's so aggressive." Force, more like it--the recognition or the imposition. Strands of matted yellow straw--embedded in an expanse of gray oil. "How golden thy hair Margarete, how ashen thy hair Shulamith..."
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