The view outside is blocked. A window has broken away from the wall, taking its reveal with it—now suspended mid-air, held precariously by a latch.

The blinds are lowered. There is no outside world here. Light bulbs, table lamps, ceiling fixtures—everything is switched on. Doors obstruct other doors; the vacant openings form a geometry of mirrored maledictions.

You pace the carpet up and down until it wears thin—perhaps still salvageable as a frayed wall hanging. A pause at the desk: beneath the blotting paper and the writing pad lies, impaled and forgotten, the drawing you’ve been searching for who knows how long. It depicts someone, head resting on a hand, gazing outward—back when there was still something to see. Now, a draught brushes in from behind. This book contains drawings by Fritz Panzer, a bilingual text (German and English) by Klaus Hoffer, and two original photographs by Friedl Kubelka.