Light that pours away and still holds a shape
move through the light and the order gives way · click and the room rings · hold and light gathers, let go and it is thrown · once it has gathered, draw, and the light winds about the line · drag to look
The water inside an ocean vortex and the water outside it are the same water — what makes the vortex a thing is the order, not the material. This is a room of haze, beams and mirrored walls built on that claim. Light streams outward without pause, and at the centre it falls into an order and stands there: a sculpture with no surface, whose inside and outside are the same light, standing in a lattice of its own reflections that carries on past anywhere the eye can follow. It runs ten movements — the vortex gathers, seen whole from the back wall of a room whose seams and lamps recede into its own mirrors, goes dark to its seams and lamps and is born out of a single spark at its heart, a shell of light racing out through the glass as the order blooms behind it, wakes and travels the room, comes close enough to find the edge of anyone standing in it and then falls with you down its own axis, thins to a silver haze, opens its middle until the vortices become rings threaded through one another, seen from high above so the hole goes dark, splits from its own reflection until the two no longer match, floods until every sculpture turns the room together with the first leaning as it goes and light arcs between the hearts that pass close, and ends on the summit: the order swells, every beam meets at the heart, and on one frame it is cut, the room struck, and what was the sculpture leaves as a wave through the glass into a room with nothing left in it but the light that was always there, seen lying on its floor, and at the last drops the beams entirely and lets colour alone do the holding. Every minute or so a bank of haze rolls across the floor, and every beam that crosses it turns to a blade of light. It draws you in close and stands you back off again as it goes, and turns you through the room at a pace that changes with it — quickest where there is most to take in, and not at all in the rest, where the room and the shot come to a stop together. Walk into the light and the order gives way around you, and takes a moment to close behind. Stand still and the room turns toward you; stand still with someone else and it gives up one of its own sculptures to hold the one between you. Hold until the light gathers, then draw, and the room winds its light about the line you drew.