Something about the lighthouse is disconcerting. You can’t tell whether it’s trying to keep you away or draw you in. This place no longer feels safe and you feel unusually confined. The air is so thick with salt that it clings to you and feels claustrophobic. The only feature on this rapidly shrinking island is the lighthouse. You feel as though this is your only exit.

The world was once so vast and strange and open and now it is so small, so restrictive. To be lost in the great open feels somehow majestic, but as you approach the door you feel as though you are walking on rails. Above you, a circular staircase rises for eternity.