My Soul Belongs to Agnes Martin

New York. Spring. Leaves. Warmth. Quentin and Stephen and Tim. Trains along the Hudson. The Dia Beacon. No photos allowed inside (pain). The breathlessness of walking inside the Dia Beacon. Agnes Martin. The overwhelming emotion of being in a room surrounded by Agnes Martin’s lines. Lines. Robert Smithson’s Map of Broken Glass (Atlantis) on the cold floor. Natural light from above. The feeling of the sun on my face while laying on the grass outside. How did I grow up in a place so close but never know Beacon or the Hudson like this?