Marston's oil paintings on canvas and panel that fill the gallery's front room feature forms of terra firma in variable flux, from hilltops ablaze in brush fires to fields cowering beneath tornadoes and cumulous menace. Our natural landscape is here, our stormed sphere is here, but we are nowhere to be found. A different extreme end of our resident stratum is Law's subject matter in the project space. His paintings capture the upper register of the Empire State Building—glimpsed from Ridgewood—with compositional consistency, their variance governed by light, weather, season, instant. Neither in this sphere, note, do we appear.