All structures exist for one purpose: to be dismantled. Not in the name of destruction, but to expose the contradictions they conceal. The belief that construction guarantees order is nothing but a fleeting illusion, for order can only persist through endless correction and error.

This repetition blurs the line between outside and inside, it makes uncertain the boundary between audience and no-audience. Deliberation and spontaneity erode one another. Loneliness reveals itself as profoundly social. And silence forever resounds as the echo of words.

The “Room” is nothing more than a temporary fiction, a fragile frame that pretends to separate inside from outside, while in truth they flow into each other. The door, once opened, is already closed. The boundary, once drawn, is already transferred, unceasingly reconstituted, trembling in motion.

Deconstruction is not an end point. It is neither completion nor truth, but the restless movement of fragments—scattering and converging again and again. Collapse is not extinction, but the seed of a new order. And every order will always fall by its own contradiction. This cycle is the persistence of expression itself—the very condition of our existence.

Therefore, what is given here is not a record, not a guarantee. What remains is not architecture, nor system, nor doctrine fixed in stone. What remains is only this: the event of you and I having stood together, if only for a moment, as audience.