Who holds the pen to draw the map? Is there room for error in mapmaking? Can subjectivity bleed into its lines? Can the map of a space become the space itself? The map slowly unfolds and we let it breathe. The map finds its first coordinates in the beginning. In the fleeting panic of creation. In the unpolished force of a musician’s debut album. In the first frame of a trilogy. In the electric uncertainty of a first kiss. The map takes shape through the courage to start. So let’s start.