Maurice Greene; John Hoadly
A single shaft of light descends from the upper left, cutting through the dimness of a wood-paneled room. It finds the pale skin of a man seated at a table, his hand poised near an open musical score. This is the quiet gravity of creation. The light catches the crisp white of a linen cuff and the soft, powdered texture of a wig, leaving the rest of the chamber in…










