A stair set is a dimension to a builder and a dare to a skateboarder.

Riser, tread, width, a count of steps: that is the vocabulary a building code is written in, and it is also how a skate spot gets its name. The Hollywood 16. El Toro's 20, torn out in 2019. The Lyon 25 — twenty-five steps outside a Renzo Piano convention centre, whose ollie went unmade from Ali Boulala's attempt in 2002 until Aaron Homoki landed it in 2015. Nowhere else does anyone count the stairs.

That count is doing something to the eye. A skateboarder measures the run-up, reads the rail as something to grind rather than hold, checks the landing for cracks and camber, and grades the flight against every set already rolled away from. Same concrete, different wiring: circulation to the architect who drew it, an obstacle nobody designed to whoever arrives with a board.

Stairset builds only the object. Dimensions in, geometry out, the sun placed by hand, the same render call behind the screen and the paper. What it draws is the set standing empty — before the trick, or long after the spot was capped — and the reading is left to whoever is looking.

Works from this series are in production, and will appear here as they are finished.