Picture this: a room, not just any room, but a laboratory of light and reflection, where reality itself bends and flexes like a gymnast on a high wire. On the walls, a collection of folding dichroic planes hang there, shifting in the light, like the wings of some alien butterfly. Meanwhile, in the center, two reflective acrylic lenses are set up, as if they were high-tech sentinels, constantly monitoring the subtle dance of light and color, changing and shimmering with every shift in the air. This is no ordinary exhibit—this is a study in Proprioception, the mind-bending idea that space doesn’t just surround you, it touches you. As participants move through this warped wonderland, the surfaces themselves—both the materials and their reflections—become living, breathing creatures, reacting to the slightest touch, exploring not just architecture, but the very sense of being in it. It’s a sensory tango, and the room is the stage.