Dream Theater

Time has two faces. Its length is measured by the rhythm of the sun, and its depth by the rhythm of passion. The piece is built the way a dream is built, in layers that refuse to stay in order, turquoise moving into gold, a leaf surfacing where a leaf should not be. This is wabi-sabi as much as it is Kintsugi: the beauty of what is unfinished, imperfect and passing. The surface is deliberately not resolved. Stand with it a while and it keeps rearranging itself, the way a theater goes on playing after the audience has gone home.