The result is a sober, monolithic cube that appears to hover within the gallery, a feat of design that is as much about what it removes as what it introduces. The walls are finished in a soft, matte plaster, a material choice that absorbs just enough light to disappear into the background, leaving Corse’s work as the true protagonist once entered. The cube is subtly elevated off the floor, creating the illusion of weightlessness, a visual and spatial gesture that feels almost cinematic in its quiet drama. But here’s where it gets even more intriguing: entry into the space is controlled by a small sliding door, allowing only one or two people in at a time. The moment you step inside, the outside world disappears—no chatter, no distractions, just you and the work, shifting and shimmering in real time: chilled air, crackling light. It’s the kind of experience that’s impossible to capture in a photograph, a rare instance where architecture and art work in tandem to shape something entirely ephemeral, yet deeply personal. This collaboration is more than a meeting of minds; it’s the realization of an artistic vision long deferred. HUUM’s intervention is subtle, intentional, and, like Corse’s work itself, an exercise in restraint. Together, they’ve crafted a space that doesn’t just house an artwork—it transforms the way we see.