

A dense mosaic of shuttered rectangles assembles into a façade that feels less like architecture than a catalog of private compartments—each pastel cell a contained breath, each ridge of texture insisting on lived time. Against this measured grid, three small figures emerge in stark, white cut-out voids, their silhouettes turning absence into stage: two lean toward one another over a balcony rail while distant presences watch from separated apertures, as if intimacy must be negotiated through distance. The muted greens, ochres, and blues soften the severity of the structure, yet the repeating compartments quietly echo the emotional partitions of urban life—connection flickering, always framed, always conditional.







