Lamina is born from a clear, almost primary gesture: a fold that interrupts the continuity of the material and transforms it into space.
It is not a full volume, but a surface that becomes aware of itself when it tilts, breaks, and rises again.

The marble slab, reduced to the minimum possible thickness, loses all monumentality and becomes a threshold.
Every change of direction is a silent decision: matter does not resist, it complies.
Light flows across surfaces as if on an engraved sheet of paper, revealing internal tensions, controlled fragilities, unstable balances.

Lamina is an architecture compressed into an intimate scale.
A fragment that holds the movement without freezing it, as if the shape were captured at the exact moment before falling or rising.

It represents nothing.
He's not hinting.
Exists.

It is a subtle, rigorous presence, which asks the gaze to slow down and the body to revolve around it, to understand that even a simple fold can contain an entire idea of space.