A movement seems to stray from its path, a line in the void, an immensity to be filled, but what does the line have to do with it if the author is the one guiding it? Inward, a miscellany, sometimes confused, sometimes continuous, seems purposeless, but the path is carefully designed to prove something to the creation itself. And who brought it to this uncertain scenario? The author himself, who before finishing the work had only one intention: to make it float. Only now, in the uncertain and strange line, is purpose seen in the whole. A movement seems to stray from its path, a line in the void, and what is known? Not a word about the path, only the certainty of what is expected: to float.