There are sheets of paper hanging from the gallery’s ceiling. They are empty and white, with perforations meant for the transparent nylon to connect them to the ceiling.
Raising the work above the spectators affects their point of view. Although empty, light and with “carnival” properties, those sheets create a certain feeling of discomfort.
All the papers are hollow, empty. There’s nothing on them. The gallery is full of nothing.
A philosophical question: what is all, what is nothing?
Absolutely nothing. Or, the Absolute is nothing.