accurately, in their ivories—one discerns all the colors of the
spectrum, remembering that these always are resolved in
white and that black absorbs heat. Like reading in Stevens'
poem of the peacocks and "The colors of their tails," if we
stare long enough we are willing simply to be in Marden's
strict presence, in his contained heat. Ghosts of color seem,
in fleeting moments, to stride forward:
"Out of the window,
I saw how the planets gathered
Like the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind.
I saw how the night came,
Came striding like the color of the heavy hemlocks
I felt afraid.
And I remembered the cry of the peacocks."
There are worlds, from planets to leaves, concealed in
Marden's drawings, if only we take the time to go and look at
them. Mirar, buscar, cuidar, vigilar, at Matthew Marks Gallery
until December 21st. It is worth the voyage. H -Lisa Zeiger
HYLAND
