Two parallel surfaces organize what used to be an empty space without weighing it down: one forms the floor, the other the roof.
The floor emerges as a surface layer of the earth, folding subtly over itself to adapt to minor differences in level and ease access to the neighbouring buildings.
The roof, the boundary that separates us from the sky, is a continuous sheet that does not quite touch the buildings around it, producing great skylights and generating an enigmatic interplay of reflections.
Space is the gaseous fluid that moves between these two limits.
The precision of steel and zinc, in the hands of local craftsmen, gives form to this narrative.