High on a hill in a forest of pines, a sliver of compressed air waits in stillness for those who embark on a steep ascent to arrive, breathless and sweating, in the small elevated circular clearing of Platform. In the unfiltered forest air, the sculptural composition reflects the properties of a body under strain, drawing into focus the often silent and unseen labour of aspiration. From the base of the stairway, the slender stone column is barely discernible, from this vantage it is impossible to conceive of its properties, whether it alone is a sculpture, a pedestal, or both. For those who climb–the curious, the able–the form of a planar stone ‘capital’ shimmers into view. The capital suggests an unframed skylight, crafted from twin panes of polished glass facing the sky. At chest height, column and capital coalesce into a lectern, an altar, a prop, or a stage for performance, declaration, and doubt.

Here, suspended at altitude, the capital captures a specific volume of air equivalent to the carbon exhaled by an adult human while climbing these 95 steep stairs. Sealed between the skins of glass, the 15 grams of CO₂-laden air forms a charged threshold, moderating hot and cold to sustain a fragile equilibrium. When the viewer leans into this intimate field, the twin planes yield a double image: a reflection within a reflection of the Self. As breath calms and metabolism steadies, the clear surface mirrors and binds the viewer with the landscape, collapsing figure and ground.