Perforations
Imagine a concrete facade, its smooth expanse interrupted by random holes—each one like a silent breath. Some small, barely a pause; others larger, deliberate, like commas or full stops. The pattern is irregular but purposeful, creating a rhythm that feels almost musical. The holes form an unpredictable beat, like the staccato of thoughts, or the unexpected pause in conversation. Each puncture allows light to filter through, casting shadows that shift with the time of day. This facade speaks, not in words, but in the pauses between them, a language of absence, marking time through form and space.
