Horror Vacui

Space is no longer a refuge but a vertigo. Modernity has consumed its margins, and the project inhabits a slipping threshold: it does not promise consolations, but rather an exercise in presence within the void. Here, the image does not fill: it subtracts. Fullness becomes noise, the outline loses authority, function withdraws, leaving behind an unstable field of possibilities.

It is within this interstice that form is born: brief, ephemeral, capable of appearing like a crack and instantly shifting. It belongs neither to the one who draws nor to the one who observes; it passes through both like a cold breath that sharpens the edges of things. The project then does not impose order, but listens; it does not add, but arranges the conditions for nothingness to resound.

And when nothingness resounds, matter remembers it can become light: shadow becomes measure, the grain of time an alphabet, error a passage. Horror vacui is not fear of emptiness, but the recognition that from emptiness arises the possibility of every figure. And to remain there, a moment longer, until the gaze learns to see.