We’ve been told that oO is “a story about literature leaving the line and entering the plane, photography leaving the plane and entering space, sculpture stepping into the fourth dimension and becoming a visitor.”

At the beginning there was oO

oO is the beginning of a song, beginning of a doubt and wandering. And of problems.

The infinite loop broken in two parts, no longer connected it stays suspended side by side.

Rotating, it spirals. Oo.