How I loved this! The joy I feel looking at Vermeer plus the joy I feel looking at Morandi, but also finding something more overtly personal and troubled than in either of these. Troubled, therefore real and resonant. But the light, the lines, the patterns so utterly, satisfyingly beautiful. I stood before Vilhelm Hammershøi's paintings and felt such deep aesthetic pleasure that all the tense, sick weariness slid from my body. Wow.