It is an idea of a space, I could not come out of the room, from the room I inhabited, but did not want to be there as a room, so the string flew over my head. But I could not do much except stare at it with projections.
What moved itself forward, seeping into the large room outside, and stair cases were the wooden structures. I could see them, stone like, deserted for a dried river bed, or forms, drawings in three dimensional sense using the floor and moving into the space.
I have yet to create them, but envision their numbers as multiplying themselves, occupying space.
I also see myself running along as a photograph print, racing on to its space.