The sky is endlessly growling and hissing and it is crumbling down on us slowly but surely as i speak. The great court of our main building has a skylight in the middle of the ceiling made up of 81 tiny windows on the heavens arranged by nines, and when the sky is this angry the building is cast in the make-pretend candle light held up by tiny cherubs flirting with the shadows that surround them. When i hear thunder i bolt out of our back office door to imagine the court as i might have seen it lit a century ago.


And our website doesn’t have a single picture of it; however, this is the visageless keeper of it all.