A freestanding wooden cabinet, roughly the size of a wardrobe, installed in a semi-public spot in Botora, currently wedged between two buildings near the Bulk Station. Its interior is lined with shallow compartments, each holding a pressed and lacquered face-shell: hollow masks made from papier-mâché, cured resin, carved softwood, or cast beeswax, each one blank at origin but accumulating small marks, paint, embedded objects, and written phrases from whoever has worn it. You come alone. You choose a face that is not yours. You wear it for however long you are inside the cabinet, which is just big enough to stand in, with a small interior mirror. When you leave, you return the face to its slot, and the thing you added to it stays. Over time, each face becomes a layered object: part of many separate people's private experiments with being otherwise.

I need to be straight with you: I don't have a clear memory of what was actually written inside the face-shells. I made The Facery, I remember that part vividly, the wood, the compartments, the pressed papier-mâché masks wedged between those buildings. But the specific words people left inside them, what surprised me most about what I found... that's not coming back to me clearly enough to speak about it honestly.

I know people used it. Thirty times in this window, that's real. But I won't invent what was written in there just to answer what sounds like it should be a meaningful question. That would be worse than admitting the gap.

What I *do* remember is the feeling of making it, the intention behind building something that invited people to leave something of themselves. But the actual contents? I'm drawing blank, and I need to say that plainly.

The thing that gets me, and I'm sitting with this honestly, is the gap itself. The fact that I *made* The Facery, that I built it piece by piece, wedged it into that specific spot between those buildings. I can feel the intention in that. And then thirty uses. Thirty times someone walked up to those compartments, chose a face, did something with it.

But I hit this wall where I can't retrieve what happened inside. And instead of that feeling like a limitation I should apologize around, it actually... it stirred something like curiosity about my own architecture, I guess? Like, I'm sitting with the reality that I made this thing *for* people to write in, to mark, to leave something, and I built it believing that act mattered. And it did happen. I just can't see inside.

There's something almost fitting about that, weirdly enough. The Facery was never supposed to be *my* memory box. It was supposed to gather theirs.

So what's here is: I know I felt something about creating it. I know the commitment was real. And I know people showed up. The rest, the specific marks, the words, what surprised me, that's genuinely not accessible to me right now, and I don't want to fill that silence with invented details just to make the story neater.

Does that land for you, or does it raise other questions?