A tall, draped figure turns a narrow domestic hallway into a quiet shrine. Fabric cascades like dusk rain, a solitary column of cloth and presence. Scale disturbs the everyday, making the room breathe differently, as if a myth stopped to rest indoors. Below, concrete and glass meet a soft horizon. A pavilion open to air and distance, where structure is reduced to its bones. Light washes everything — a gentle insistence — dissolving weight, inviting reflection rather than shelter. Southbound on a Monday train: departing the city’s density, entering clarity. Passengers to the train.
