Time, made literal. Each second falls into six positions of light and dark. Ziro refuses the dial and the digit — two metaphors so worn we mistake them for time itself.
The reading is exact. It is also illegible at a glance. Between the precision of the system and the speed of perception, a delay opens. That delay is the work.
Beneath every screen, transaction, and instrument of measure, the same on-and-off pulse runs. Ziro returns it to the surface. What governs is briefly, plainly, here.
There is no countdown, no chime, no nudge toward productivity. The work is indifferent. Time passes whether or not you decode it.
You have always trusted clocks. You have rarely understood them. Ziro is what that trust looks like, undressed.
— Curatorial note