In our midst.
Among us.
A space emerges before you notice it.
A quiet in-between that you slip into, like a conversation that began long ago.

Lines stretch across the surface, encounter each other, diverge, become entangled. Colors probe, overlap, linger. Nothing stands alone. Everything touches something else.

Here, a dark bundle, like a thought that is condensing.
There, a bright spot, almost incidental—and yet persistent.
Petrol next to umber. Red leaning against ochre.
A green that suddenly steps forward, as if it wants to be heard.

You look—and only later realize that you have long since entered.
That your gaze has become part of the web.

Am I still outside?
Or already among them, among us?

Behind the overlaps, light zones open up, breathing expanses. A blue that promises depth. For a moment, you lose yourself. And find your way back: to the dots, the splashes, the traces of movement. To the restlessness that remains.

Like voices in a room: different, contradictory, simultaneous.
No two elements are alike. And yet something holds them together.
Closeness. Tension. Attention.

Everything remains in flux.
Breaks off.
Begins anew.
Crosses paths.
Loses itself.
Finds itself again.

In our midst— that is not a place.
It is a state.

And within it: life.