A cube of steel, thirty by thirty centimetres.
Precise, geometric, controlled.
Look closely, and the form leaves itself behind.
As if something has turned inward.
Hilgemann works with air as a shaping force.
By creating a vacuum, he draws the breath from the material.
No outward violence — only pressure from within.
The steel — hard, yet malleable — seeks a new equilibrium as tension transforms into form.
Five faces rust and breathe; one gleams like a mirror.
It closes nothing, but opens the question:
where lies the core? What is inside, what is out?
Within the folds and dents, movement lingers.
The steel seems to breathe inward, at its own pace.
Hilgemann makes the invisible tangible: time, breath, pressure.
The form is not designed, but emerges.
Controlled, restrained — like a body that has just exhaled.
An exploration of materiality, tension, and the invisible forces within steel.