Up close, the stillness dissolves, or is troubled: the painting consists of thousands of small hatch marks, short vertical stokes made in horizontal bands, applied in what the artist has described as a kind of meditative gesture. The experience I had viewing it was something like love, what the French call a coup de foudre, a thunderbolt, and I knew I wanted to feel its effect again and again; I knew that it was something that would be, in some way I didn’t fully understand, useful to me. And so, thanks to haggling, a drawn-out schedule of payments generously accepted by the gallery, and the forbearance of my partner, it now hangs behind my desk, where I can feel it almost buzzing as I work.