The dream is recurring but remains vague. A daydream, a reverie of the tropics; not a tropical place, but the idea of the tropics. A mood out of a Conrad novel; leaves full of unknown cures for unknown conditions. Always palm trees veiling the beyond with outstretched ﬁngers held apart just so, overlapping like the carved pattern of inlaid harem grillwork; always vines falling from the undisclosed heights above, reaching for the ground like new leaves reach for the light. Here in the rotunda are hints, glimpses, ﬂashes of memory half perceived, mist falling on your face, water pumped into heated air. Interlocking hexagon pathways becoming chemical chains recombining into unidentiﬁed compounds causing undiscovered states of being. Fugitive rays–ephemeral traces transforming life forms–intersecting, moving through space, ﬂowing like streams. Convection currents climbing the walls of the glass enclosure; striped leaves in a mirror double a kaleidoscope of unfolding faces forming ritual masks Shadows come from the outside–only light penetrates the walls. The wildness is arranged. Not a jungle but a garden perfected. Tropic in the abstract contained in a nobleman’s wunderkammer, a giant glass cabinet of curiosities from around the world.