



A cool, submerged interior is pierced by the jewel-like geometry of a stained-glass window, its hard-edged color acting as both sanctuary and provocation against the teal hush of the walls. Threads and dangling papers crisscross the air like nervous circuitry, turning the room into a web of messages—half remembered, half intercepted—while paper planes skim the red floor as fragile emissaries of escape. The solitary rocking chair, patched in mismatched squares, becomes a quiet altar to endurance: a place where childhood, care, and waiting sediment into a single object. Shadowy figures hover at the margins—dancer, watcher, wheel—suggesting a choreography of presence and absence in which the private self is always being observed, translated, and left unfinished.







