Across the room, on a white wall, the artist has copied lines from a poem by Archibald MacLeish: "...ours is the late, last wisdom of the afternoon. We know that love, like light, grows dearer toward the dark."
On a narrow wall to the left of a chimney breast, the artist has drawn a tall rectangle with black graphite that stands out windowlike. It mirrors a translucent, sandblasted panel of glass covering a window opening of the same dimensions on the other side. The blacks are various and subtle. Glimmers of color hide beneath the textures.