A faint line describes the horizon; above it, a mountain rises in gentle, dissolving contours. Reichman paints the landscape not as a view to be captured, but as an experience of stillness. The light, filtered through a veil of pale rose and ivory, feels almost inhaled—quiet and interior. The painting depicts the view from the porch of Luchita Hurtado and Lee Mullican’s home in Taos, a place long associated with artistic retreat and spiritual contemplation.

Here, the mountain is both subject and silence. Its presence is immense yet softened, rendered with the restraint of someone attuned to the invisible weight of air and time. The sparse marks—the trace of a fence, a small patch of green, the suggestion of a coiled rope in the foreground—anchor the painting to the physical world, while the open, nearly empty field of color invites inward reflection.

As with Reichman’s other works, mindfulness and poetic compression guide the composition. Each gesture is deliberate, carrying the meditative awareness of haiku: form reduced to essence, space charged with quiet. The mountain and the land below are not described but felt—absorbed through still observation. In this distilled vision, Reichman transforms landscape into a contemplative act, a record of presence and attention.