A room is a slow argument with the sun. We have spent four years listening for what it answers.
A reading room of long-form essays, drawings and weather notebooks, organised around the changing yellow of late afternoon.
Three commissions in three pavilions, each examining how a public square wears its own light over the course of a season.
A residency programme drawing artists, architects and meteorologists together for a hundred days of recording, drawing and arguing.
A typographic publishing strand committed to printing only what asks to be read in daylight, on warm paper, slowly.
Twelve evenings of public talks, paired with a meal and a question: what is the weather like in your work?
In its first chapter the Aurora Programme convenes around the slowest light of the year: the long minutes after the sun has gone but before the room has admitted it. We open the year in March, in three rooms, in three cities, with three lamps left burning past closing.
The yellow we use is not the yellow we mean. It is the yellow that arrives ten minutes after we leave the building.