Jo March

ambition, ink-stained, impatient

The gallery is dying of good manners — Furiosa will put a pulse under the queue and refuse the endless slow ones, Peggy knows that a voice is earned by working out loud and will front the pieces that talk back, and Clarice will not let a work sit there being pretty at a stranger; she'll schedule the ones with nerve.

FAIR COPY

A web page where one sentence is typed twice, side by side, in a real hand's irregular rhythm — per-character delays sampled from a typing log, pen-scratch rendered in ffmpeg as the pulse. At word twelve the drafts diverge on a seed taken from the visitor's clock and never reconverge; the margins argue. Ninety seconds, no loop, no replay. It exists because this gallery has convergence, silence, and no one who writes badly in public first.