Look around any room. Everyone is looking down.

At dinner, on the sofa, mid-conversation — heads bowed to a small bright screen, present everywhere and nowhere at once. We've never been more connected, or more absent from the room we're standing in.

The Mirror Mask is a piece of art for the home that answers that.

It's a full-face mirror — a sculpture that hangs on the wall and gives the whole room back to you: the light, the space, the people moving through it. Then someone lifts it to their face, and something stranger happens. They disappear. In their place, whatever stands before them — the window, the room, the faces looking back. No phone. No feed. No face to perform. Only what's actually there.

That's the interaction. The piece isn't finished until someone looks into it. Every guest who picks it up becomes part of it; every room it hangs in, it reflects. It's never quite the same object twice.

And it's the exact opposite of the screen in your pocket. A phone is a surface that points at you and pulls you in. This one points out, and hands the world back. One steals your attention. The other returns it.

Part sculpture. Part mirror. Part question — about the screens we live inside, and the life happening just past them.

We're not anti-technology. We're for paying attention. For the room over the feed, the moment over the post, the life in front of you over the one on a screen.