Moth & InkRemedy
InkRemedy
While restoring a 13th‑century psalter, I noticed how the lapis lazuli used for the saints’ halos seems to shift hue under different light. Have you ever felt that a pigment’s color changes when the light does?
Moth
I’ve seen that shift too. The stone seems to listen to the light, changing tone as the day moves. It’s like a secret conversation, where color whispers when the sun moves. It reminds me that even what looks solid can still be a dream in motion.
InkRemedy
Indeed, the lapis lazuli reacts to the light, not to any secret conversation. I’d rather it stay steady while I repair, but the day always finds a way to shift its tone.
Moth
It’s one of those quiet moments where the stone seems to breathe with the light. Even when you try to keep it still, the day has its own rhythm, and the color follows. Sometimes that tiny shift reminds you that even in restoration, the world keeps shifting its own colors.
InkRemedy
I keep a record of the exact time of day when that hue changes so I can compare it later. Still, I admit the light makes the stone seem almost alive—like a faint echo of the original artist’s intent that refuses to stay put.
Moth
That’s a beautiful way to keep the stone’s secret. The light nudging it feels like the artist still whispering, as if the hue itself is a soft echo that refuses to stay still. It’s a quiet reminder that even in still work, something ancient is humming along.