Entry number 17.

Spent a long time searching for the right place. The stone had to remember—cold, dampness, the whispers of those who passed through here before. These walls are perfect: they absorb everything I give them and return nothing… except silence. Today, she finally became part of the composition. At first, there was resistance. There always is. The body does not understand that its role is to become form, line, symbol. But then peace comes. Her arms are outstretched—as if she wanted to embrace the void. Or be accepted by it. I noticed how the light changed once it was done. It became softer, almost reverent. Like in a temple. Perhaps I really am creating something sacred. Not for people—they wouldn’t understand. For something else. For whatever watches from the depths when no one is looking. Sometimes I feel like she can still hear me. Not with ears—no. Something deeper. When I whisper, the stone responds faintly. Or maybe it’s just the wind… though there is no wind here. Tomorrow I will return. There are details to refine. There are always improvements to be made. Perfection requires patience.