Plaza

In architectural terms, a plaza is a place that waits—muted, grey, open, suspended before meaning arrives.

This work appears only after dark. Four synchronized red LEDs are embedded in the seams of the pavement, pulsing in a quiet cycle of appearance and disappearance. Their rhythm rewrites the ground.

Between one point and another, a virtual “surface” flickers into being—thin as a thought—coexisting with the built structures around it.

Architecture

A plaza is a planned emptiness. I’m drawn to this deliberate blank, where meaning depends entirely on what people bring to it—movement, gathering, passing. Remove all of that, and what remains is a bare foundation returning to its original stillness, carrying a hint of loneliness.

Dark

At night, without sufficient light, the open ground loses its edges. The four LEDs blink in unison, carving a new temporal structure into the darkness.

Each day the circuit resets; each night the blinking adopts a new frequency. Its cycle follows natural time, not museum hours, allowing the work to breathe with the outdoor environment.

Placed so they can be seen from any angle, the points shift in appearance as viewers move. Step inside the shape they form, and the enclosure breaks—the “surface” collapses into scattered points.

Day

Powered by sunlight stored during the day, the installation activates automatically at night.

Each unit functions independently, adhering lightly to the ground with almost no physical presence.

In daylight, the components nearly vanish. The plaza returns to itself.