Number 27 1964

John McLaughlin's *Number 27* is like a carefully tuned instrument, playing with space and color in a way that feels both precise and expansive. The white rectangle in the center is so clean, so smooth, it almost hums with a quiet energy, and those stripes of pale blue, carefully placed at the top and bottom, anchor the whole thing like a frame within a frame. Up close, the paint is laid on thin, almost translucent, letting the surface breathe, and the black border has a kind of velvety depth. It's as if McLaughlin is inviting us into a world of pure sensation. I see something of Agnes Martin in this, that same quest for a kind of transcendent simplicity, but with a harder edge, a more insistent geometry. It reminds me that art isn't always about filling space, it's about creating space, about opening up possibilities for seeing and feeling in new ways. It’s about finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.