Ed Ruscha’s Thinks I, To Myself captures the internal rhythm of thought through a phrase that feels both literary and colloquial. Borrowed from 19th-century vernacular, the title conjures a voice caught in private reflection, yet Ruscha presents it with his signature clarity and detachment, turning introspection into spectacle. The tension between the inward-facing sentiment and the outward-facing presentation creates a subtle irony, as if self-awareness has been flattened into a billboard. In Thinks I, To Myself, Ruscha transforms a quiet, almost forgotten idiom into a visually arresting meditation on language, selfhood, and the absurdity of our inner monologues.