Three thin fabric panels hang loosely in a row on the wall. Their frayed edges betray that they were swiftly torn from the smog blanketing the sky. Each sheet rustles slightly as the breeze has not yet settled in the material.

Deja vu; these scenes can’t quite be placed in your memory.

A subtle glow and warmth of unknown origin radiates from the panels. To the left one sheet shimmers with varying extents of luminous yellow. To the right, another resonates deeply with cadmium orange. Both seem poised to set off the center panel, portraying a spectacular sunset gradient. Inky twilight invades the scene from above as sunshine drifts beyond the lower edge of vision.

Delicate wrinkles grace the fabric’s surface like a network of veins. The cloth sags against pins that hold it just so. Around the perimeter, loose threads have worked themselves into tangles. Pigment settles densely like fog. In places, the particulate has lifted almost enough to reveal a landscape.

You watch these events unfold until you realize time has stopped. The images before you have stilled. Their colors have saturated your vision. You close your eyes, and the fantasy persists, inescapable. The air feels thick and stale. You need to leave to breathe life again.