Doors, windows and thresholds the city has let go return as pierced rings, ordered by diameter in a sequence that never closes. Pineider returns them to raw material, clearing away paint, metal and joinery, then cuts them into flat, pierced forms, almost circular, each a different size.

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The rings follow their diameter, from widest to narrowest, articulated by rubber joints that let the whole thing move. What emerges is a six-metre body with no single position. It spreads across the floor, climbs the wall, hangs in the air, telling the space differently each time.

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The wood holds the memory of what it was. Here it finds a form it already seemed to be moving toward, where the rhythm of the rings holds rigour and release together.