984 modules, or 7,872 folds. Folds that are folded, unfolded, badly folded, crooked, too pronounced, invisible, sometimes stained. Not to mention the failed ones, the torn ones, the lost ones. The paper twists and folds into mountains and valleys. And the formed modules accumulate, develop, swarm, multiply. Flexibility gives way to a fragile rigidity. I make a multitude of them, an infinity, to create a unity, to generate a form. An egg, a fruit, a flower; everyone is free to see another identity in it. The form is reassuring, familiar, though intriguing. And I continue to assemble, stack and interlock the triangles endlessly.

A few dots of glue for the smallest of the rings, without wanting to admit that it’s cheating. A few stitches to tighten the second one.

And it’s finished, after two weeks.