automat in a silent way edward hopper oil on canvas 1927 it's cold outside. probably late at night. a cast iron radiator throws off just enough heat to make the inside of this well-lit place feel like a small sanctuary. for a time, the world outside seems far away. the woman sits with one gloved hand, the other bare. a bowl of fruit rests behind her on the windowsill. she's alone. how does she take her coffee? what is she thinking of? does she feel like a ghost haunting her own life? disconnected? detached? or does she feel every small kindness or cruelty stab at her like a dagger deep in the thigh of compassion? what makes her love? what makes her cry? what does she hope for? what does she regret? what is her name? would she let you sit with her and ask these questions with your eyes? would she meet your gaze to answer? i could stare at this painting and wonder all day. 130112 what's it to you? who go blather from