What do you want to let go of?
An interactive installation about naming — and releasing — what we carry.
It started with a question I kept asking myself: what would it feel like to set something down in public? Not to perform it, just to name it and let it go.
The piece is simple. You type a single sentence — a worry, a grudge, a name — and it joins a slow constellation of everyone else's. The words drift, brighten, and then dissolve into light, so nothing you write stays on screen long enough to be read twice. The release is the point.
Technically it's a small thing pretending to be a large one. A keyboard feeds a web app; a particle system renders each phrase as a cloud of points that scatter on a timer; the whole field is projected large enough that a room of strangers feels like a shared sky. I tuned the decay curve for weeks — too fast and it feels dismissive, too slow and the wall gets crowded and anxious.
What surprised me was how honest people were when they believed the words would vanish. The anonymity did the heavy lifting. I want to build a version that travels — a booth you can wheel into a lobby, a festival, a waiting room — and see what a city decides to put down.
