We approach this still life obliquely, as a momentary and almost casual glimpse of domestic space: a covered table is pushed against the wall, next to a door frame, holding a few everyday objects set down in passing. Yet each of them points beyond the frame with unanswered questions. What is the apple doing here? What book is being read? And most urgently, what is inside the envelope addressed to “Mr. R. Kadowaki” at his Hell’s Kitchen apartment? Does the conspicuous dead leaf nearby signal some great disappointment? Regardless of what we don’t know, the plant at center has mass and its shadow is rendered in a distinctive tone—less a shadow than that of a spirit.
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