" One untitled Agnes Martin painting had been hanging in the gallery since October. I would go there in the morning and stare at it. Every day at around nine o’clock, pale sunlight radiated on the painting just so, and its surface would glow, weightless and pale and supernatural as sea-foam. When I looked at the painting then, I thought: This is it. It wasn’t gold that was the sublime material, the magic matter; it was the surface itself. The stuff in between. The birth of the world. I’d found it. It was here. "

― , Catherine House