It was filled with a row of plates on a yellowish beige clay ground. The green wept and ran in fringes and rains and jittery splashes down each one. It was pungent and bad. It is called Hooker’s Green. Cy stared and stared at this green. It was the event of his morning. He had met some sour new being.
I saw years later at the Gagosian Gallery that he had absorbed that pungent but thirst-stilling green on a large canvas about an oasis.
I saw years later at the Gagosian Gallery that he had absorbed that pungent but thirst-stilling green on a large canvas about an oasis.
