In the old shoe shop, the metal shelves became a slow, stubborn material to work with. I bent their legs day after day, each session producing three triangular frames—almost identical, never the same. The repetition formed a quiet discipline, a sculptural routine that turned labour into geometry. Beneath them rested the window grates I had removed from the space, objects that later travelled to another house and continued accumulating meaning through displacement. The installation shifted daily, evolving with each new set of triangles, and the metal carried the memory of the shop, the gestures, and the long process of reshaping one structure into another.
