A projector, a body, a dark room. Nothing else. The pattern hits the skin and the skin answers back — bending it, stretching it, breaking it along the lines of a shoulder blade or the curve of a spine. What was flat becomes topographic. What was abstract becomes flesh.
The geometry never lands the same way twice. A honeycomb warps over a ribcage. A wave pattern follows the turn of a hip. Stripes split where muscle meets bone. The body is not a passive screen — it is a landscape that rewrites whatever falls on it.
Some frames lean toward fashion, others toward sculpture, a few toward something closer to cartography. The constant is the negotiation: projected order meeting organic disorder, each frame a different treaty between the two.
Ninety-one lightscapes. Each one proof that skin is never neutral ground.
Choose your best.