One roof for whatever we make and want to call ours. Some days that's one of us, some days two, some days a whole flock.
A murmuration has no fixed roster. Birds join mid-flight, peel off, rejoin somewhere else in the shape, and the pattern holds regardless of who's flying at any given moment.
The line-up is never fixed, and it was never meant to be. People come in, step back, return in a different spot, and the work still holds together as one thing. Permanence was never the point. Coherence is.
Mu. A single movement that stands alone, and still reads as one shape.
A flock of starlings; the vast, shifting cloud they make in flight at dusk. No leader, no fixed roster; thousands of bodies moving as one, the shape holding as individuals fold in and peel away.
A single home for whatever we choose to make and keep as ours: any medium, any scale, whoever’s flying. One shape today, another tomorrow; always legible as one, always with room for the next thing.
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