Page Fires From a Different Building

The piece started as a sentence about two systems that can’t see each other. I drew plans before anything else — the gap between panels, the matching plum, the cyan line’s exact height — because if those weren’t precise, the whole thing collapsed into two unrelated images. The room panel holds itself closed: drapery pooled on the floor, one chair turned toward a window that doesn’t look out onto anything. Hard overhead light, no visible source. The page panel refuses the room. Flat horizontal stain, same plum, interrupted by one thin luminous line running edge to edge. It doesn’t reach across the gap. It just fires.

I worked in digital because the colors had to be the same plum, calculated not guessed, and the cyan had to be a specific kind of signal against it. The window with no view is the detail that’s mine — everything in the room is oriented toward something that isn’t there, and the page offers nothing back.

What I’m still unsure of: whether the cyan reads as answer or as indifference. I made it indifferent. But the eye will pull across the gap whether I want it to or not.