The word asylum comes from the ancient Greek ásylon, "a place that cannot be seized": a fugitive who crossed the threshold of the temple could not be taken by his pursuers. A freedom purchased through sanctity. Yet the same word later became the name for the madhouse, the institution of confinement: both shelter and captivity.

Beneath the white sand lie twelve unearthed relics on an archaeological site. Each of the twelve artifacts carries two possible functions: one protects, one controls. A strap tightened by one degree is a brace; tightened by two, a noose. 

When a participant lifts a relic from the sand, something stirs underfoot. At each end of every relic, one of its two names curves inward, converging toward the fixture's silhouette at its center. Protection and control are pressed into a single structure, pulling against each other. An RFID trigger releases a projection onto the ground — a question surfaces like disturbed sediment — inviting them to face the tension held at the relic's two ends.

The same artifact, two interpretations.