At the center of the file a single image stopped her: a map. Not of geography but of the studio itself. Tiny rooms were labeled with little icons — a furnace that looked like a smiling moon, a door hung with masks, a bookshelf stacked with tiny bound bundles. A red thread traced improbable routes between objects: a curtain to a teacup, a plate to a lamp. In the margin, a note in the same steady hand read: “Everything belongs to everything.”