ARCHIVE / WALLFACE 01
we tagged the fog so it would remember us
The corridor kept every scrawl. Marker ghosts, amber warning halos, the chalky outline of a hand pressed to warm stone gray metal. Nothing here sells itself. It simply stays long enough to blur.
LATITUDE OF A HALF-DREAM
41.40338 N
2.17403 E
Coordinates tick upward like a bored flight computer pretending this wall is a map. The spray paint says otherwise: there is no arrival, only another beige corner where the mist gathers.
BLEACHED PRINTS TAPED TO AIR
photos without pictures
Every rectangle is an invented memory: sepia fields, torn borders, grain like old radio snow. They never depict a person, yet they feel handled by someone who laughed once and then floated away.
FINAL PASS / HULL INTERIOR
03 . 31 . 2026
the wall has been fully traversed. the mist closes in.