Landscape (corb show moma)

Turning left in the second or third space in the show, I realized my previous ambivalence or, perhaps, meeting of expectations, was surpassed in the realization of the layer beyond the objects, drawings, recreated interior rooms and models. I had entered his world of color as well. The smell and texture and hue of the three volumes sitting in their blue canvas shell remained still in their pages and in my memory but had come to life here. I was walking through a painting, through the palates and planes of abstraction, passing through Mondrian and Picasso and Braque. There were corners where edges existed only moments before, my vision played games. Sunlit grass, sky, sand, wood, brute, each held walls, entire surfaces and offered lines at intersections and thresholds. Was the first room white? My first memory is the flat plane, it turning to edge and thickness of wall, blue strip beyond, plane of green, a parchment drawing (its bottom left corner eaten away with time and ink and stenciled ink lettering). This is threshold. It is escape. It is moving into the space as a transformative act, as creation of memory. We move through, shift back, are new as we see and know this differently.