It was probably late winter shifting into early spring, so Saigon felt gently cool, the sunlight soft and slightly faded. That light filtered through the thin fabric, making the curtains hanging in the workshop seem somehow whiter than white. The sheer panels, with their subtle coarse texture, draped softly and were punctuated by organic cut-outs, like traces of light briefly held, then slipping away. Layers of space revealed themselves faintly through each veil, creating a feeling both weightless and fragile, as if everything were slowly dissolving in a soft sunny day.