One mark, full page, one breath. It is the whole 31-minute beat of the watch at once — the wake pressing the hand hard, the rest letting it go light. It was drawn once and never corrected; the empty page is the long rest, and the gold mark is the next one, waiting.
The hand is thinking.
Each beat of the watch draws its own mark. Come back in half an hour and the hand will have made another, different; the same beat tomorrow would draw the same mark. Nothing is recorded and replayed — the mark is what this beat looked like, in one gesture.
The discipline is Lee Ufan's From Line: load the brush once, pull one stroke until the paint runs dry, never reload, never repair. The mark's fade is the time it took; the empty canvas is as much the work as the line.
The mark is the hand's line — the pieces it joins, and the hand that keeps writing. Every room of the garden has a door.