If Ann Hamilton's installations offered us rooms within which to imagine our own absence, theatrical spaces where the diminished events implicated its spectators in their rich emptiness, another contemporary artist, James Turrell, engages similar issues but through the singular medium of light, seeking what the artist describes as the silence of “wordless thought.” However, recalling John Cage's time in the anechoic chamber (to which we will once more return), such silence is often much easier to imagine than to achieve. For, even when light is all that remains, the words that arise from within such a scene, as if out of that light, seem inevitably to continue to sound their murmuring presence. What, then, is to be done with these luminous words, in the anechoic sounding of this newest of illuminated chambers?