A mist of memory rests thick over the venerated icons of reason. A fracture split through language and meaning feels simultaneously humourless and banal in its restitution of images. Here in the depths of a defunct coal room, a woman snarls and scoffs at our entrance, warning any who see her that within the fog, battles between absolutes and suspicion sway reason in any which way. A sign of admonition desires reaction and never ceases in its effectiveness to redirect vain intuition. It remains inaccessible to those who toil at the periphery of survival and devotion, propelling them towards the unknowable.