The book is split exactly in half: the first half pure white, the second pure black, with no gradient between them, only a single abrupt reversal. The structure follows the logic by which blue cheese itself is made: its veins depend on a fissure allowed to open in the rind, along which the mould can spread, ferment and colour. The binding line where white meets black is such a fissure, deliberately kept open and never sealed. Two states collide and seep into each other there, yet never merge into a middle tone; in the words of the exhibition text, it is a threshold that remains unresolved, continuously present and yet to arrive.

The layout refuses a centred axis or a strict grid. Text sits flush to the top, floats in a corner, or is squeezed into a narrow column, and Chinese and English each follow their own breathing rhythm without aligning line by line. This unruly typography answers the chance and improvisation of the residency itself, letting the brick wall installation, figures on scaffolding, late night phone calls and lines of poetry jotted down in passing each land on the page in their own time, rather than being tidied into a neat project document.

The back cover closes on a close-up of the tattoo on the back of the artist’s neck (“Il faut imaginer Zeph heureux”), set beside a handwritten dedication. Private friendship is exposed at the very end of the book, echoing the theme of work that seeps into life and leaves its mark on the body.