hand traced pale

A hand traced the pale surface, finding not solid form but a yielding give—a continuous gradation like fine pumice stone under pressure. Each touch caused granular pockets to collapse inward with release, leaving faint trails across the skin. The material seemed less fixed relic than an ongoing process, its present shape born from countless small adjustments rather than any single moment of creation. Running fingers cross section to section felt like charting a slow drift through time, each impression echoing prior compressions; and in that quiet mapping, a sense of becoming settled over everything.