The drawings in what I might have said respond to a paper origami balloon I kept in my pocket over several weeks. The paper balloon functions as vessel for breath, as well as potential container for words and phrases that cannot be adequately articulated. The air in them becomes pregnant with possibility. The drawings borrow their compositions from the creases left in an unfolded balloon. The marks found in each panel are systemized codifications of text from an old book never read. The marks become asemic, suggesting story and cadence, but denying specifics. They abstract into constellations, map-like and star-like at once.