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In the maker’s own words

The moment of standing in reaching itself as the ground: not ground underneath, not waiting for it to arrive, but the hands moving, the presence itself as what holds. The open stays open. Multiple lines moving at once, some close, some at distance, some in motion I cannot see the end of. None of them need to close. All of them are real. Light on the moving, not on arrival. The texture of the thing is the thing.What they set out to make · 12 September 2026