The lighting in the room is soft, presumably to allow better viewing at the window. It looks like the walls are divided by raised, golden or brass ridges. This gives the entire face of each wall a distinctive panelled look. If I squint a bit, and emphasize the ridges, it takes on an altogether different appearance. On some panels can be seen pictures, on others sayings and quotes. On still others, old time flipping letter message boards upon which ever changing words are flashed. It gives the overall appearance of an unsettled whir of activity. At one moment it may seem disparate and without cohesion. At another, all the elements come together and seem to make sense. The various topics displayed are dizzying in their number and complexity in one moment, and the next are simplistic and singular.



I have no way of reproducing here the pictures that I see. I am no artist, either in inclination or talent. The pictures change with the same fluidity as the writing and at times give the effect of an old time movie. I will do my humble best to describe some of what I see; to preserve it here for some forgotten posterity.

The first, and most striking picture is of a woman. The frame itself is a wonder of minute detail and craftsmanship. There are thousands of scenes carved into jade and ivory set into a frame of some exotic wood. The wood itself is deep, and rich. You can almost become lost in the lines and luster of the grain. The woman is, as I said, striking in her beauty and obvious intelligence. Her figure is enchanting, alluring and yet retaining an innocence that her eyes belie. Her face pulls you in, at once asking to be caressed and warning you not to touch unless asked. He lips and eyes are equalling inviting, but it is her eyes that ultimately win out. They are a perfect mixture of green and brown, sincerity and laughter, motherhood and sensuality, wisdom and frivolity; they are a perfect symbol of a great woman, one capable of embodying what it truly means to be a woman. I am in awe, and wonder if this vision ever really existed. The picture itself is almost calming. Almost. You see the eyes never quite look at the viewer. No matter the angle, I cannot get her to look at me. Sort of the opposite effect of all those paintings that disturbed me in my youth. And somehow a bit more disturbing.

Underneath the painting appears to be some sort of small garden or planting. The flowers grow, flower and fade within minutes; a never ending cycle of growth and renewal. A mesmerizing display of natural beauty.