One shallow concrete bowl lying open to the sky in smooth cream concrete, curved throughout, every edge radiused and the glazing continuous, set into a turf slope to its rim. Deep green landscape presses around it, near-black and dense and unreadable, the concrete the only light thing in frame. Dusk, the sky drained to a narrow pale band and the land fallen to near-black silhouette, the chroma even and low throughout, the chroma held low throughout. One shaft through a single opening in an otherwise enclosed space, hard-edged, everything it misses still legible. One person alone in a white robe, walking away from the lens, tiny — about one fiftieth of the frame's height, too small to read a face, low and off centre. Calm and slightly utopian — built by people with more confidence than us.