Ars Gratia Artis
A man walks into a ramshackle, abandoned building.
He reaches down and sweeps dust toward the middle of the room. It eddies along the floor.
From a bright circle, a short beam of light rises, like a bar of superheated steel, glowing white.
He sweeps again. The shaft of light lengthens, reaching a bit higher.
He gathers dust into his cupped hands, stands, and then lets it fall. Now the light is one continuous beam from the floor all the way to the ceiling.
Minutes pass. As the dust settles, the light fades, fades, fades, and vanishes.
For art’s sake.