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 cool blue-green dusk, values held in a narrow band just above black, chroma low and electric cobalt night, the blue holding at full purity across the whole field, blacks dense 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. A glass on a counter with the room behind it thrown fully out of focus. Every cell takes a camera position of its own, with the camera square on from the front, the subject arriving toward it, the camera close and off the subject's axis, the subject leaning on something, the camera at the far side of a doorway, the subject in the room past it — interiors only and the camera far off down the length of the space, the subject walking away from it among them. A motel forecourt, an ice machine, a lit sign, patterned interior surfaces gelled from two opposite directions. Looking back over one shoulder at something behind, mid-stride 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 dog running loose across the ground, and in another lilac from a screen against a warm amber bulb in a shade. 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.