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When I enter my home, I feel as if I have returned to a cave—something archaic, instinctive. I open the fridge like a storage unit from another time, checking if the night will unfold as I need it to. By “on track,” I mean something entirely subjective: a well-deserved evening, a home-cooked meal, a body sinking into the couch. These are the moments when I feel most creative. The home becomes a sacred space — a place where we can be closest to ourselves, where we push against the limits of daily life. But I wonder if this space is still truly private. Our presence is becoming increasingly social, increasingly interactive. Even within our homes, we exist as data points—tracked, measured, translated. Our private spaces are slowly invaded by numbers, systems that seek to turn us into numbers themselves. We consent to this transformation, often without noticing. Are we aware of the danger? We are being broken down into particles, reduced to bits— absorbed into larger systems. In photography, sensors capture light and convert it into data, and that data becomes an image. Perhaps we are undergoing a similar process. Are we becoming the structure itself, or are we dissolving?