Ephemeral Meridian

There’s a certain cruelty in how the light behaves at dusk—how it clings to wax and glass, falls through the smallest mineral scar, and then vanishes before you can trace its path. I made this piece after the final book was closed and the last workshop swept bare—what was left wasn’t silence, but a residue. The circular form pulls at the edge of memory, not a page or a threshold, but the orbit of something that once illuminated a room and now only leaves a shadow. Zurich’s rooftops catch that last disc of sun, but only for a moment. In this work, I tried to capture that moment’s debris: not the event, but the transience—the unfinished code, the fragments of stone, the moths that flicker and leave nothing but a trace. Astronomers sometimes name vanished stars by the ghost light they leave; I keep these meridians so that forgetting can be witnessed, if not reversed.