In Flight, matter is led to the limits of its presence.
Two vertical elements rise like architectural remnants, held in balance by a rigorous relationship between solid and void. The central slit is not an expressive cut, but a necessary distance: it is there that the space begins to breathe.

The marble, dark and veined, retains the memory of weight, but the form subtracts it from gravity. The surfaces curve with restrained precision, avoiding any rhetorical impulse. Nothing tends to rise: it is the verticality itself that becomes a condition, not a gesture.

The light slides along the planes, enters the cavity, and remains there.
The void is not a crossing, but a measure.
The sculpture does not indicate a movement, it suspends it.

Flight does not represent elevation: it makes it possible without showing it.
It is a silent presence, built to maintain a balance between what weighs and what is missing.