A square two-column grid of eight widescreen film frames in four rows, every cell edge touching its neighbour and the grid running to all four edges. Every one of the eight cells holds bleached pale blue, the whole frame lifted and low in contrast and sodium orange, a flat warm field with the sun sitting in it as a soft disc at once, both at full saturation and neither winning, the two hues meeting on a hard architectural edge — a doorway, a drawn curtain, a wall return. Eight cells, three wides, three closes, one extreme macro, one architectural interior with nobody in it. Every cell takes a camera position of its own, with the camera square on from the front, the subject arriving toward it, the camera at the far side of a doorway, the subject in the room past it, the camera holding on the place a moment after the subject has left it and the camera in profile from the right, the subject turning into it among them. A photo booth with a curtain, a grid of sample portraits pinned beside it, patterned interior surfaces gelled from two opposite directions. Two invented adults in opposition, one close and in focus, one far behind and small appears in the close cells, standing in the doorway between the two colours. One cell is a high-angle overhead. One cell is an architectural interior at rest with nobody in it. In one cell a rescue, one of them pulling the other out of something, and in another a dog running loose across the ground. Neutrals at two percent, coarse grain across every surface including the flat sky, figure edges dissolving into it, a soft round halo on every practical. Operatic and airless, a building where the light is a character.