Motherwell (July)

Robert Motherwell informs us of night. Dark waters of bay bends, dark overlap of sky. Golden arcs of highway intrusion, golden diamonds of shipping. Dark suburbs above hills, dark along conjoining dales. His atmospheric black handiwork prevails. Dark constellations beyond July mist, dark towers where work’s done. All squares disappear into rounded forms. Cold far-flung reminders of Antarctica, cold down in the silent ground. Dark stadiums, dark ovals. His intricate doodles at the edges: “All the time thinking of you.” Dark eyes at long windows, dark houses lost to view. Golden carriages of a late train, golden emptiness of stations.