Pilote convenes two eighteenth century sensibilities inside a desert field stripped to glare and wind. A scorched trunk and scattered glass hold the frame while a nearly inaudible voice reads fragments from Émilie du Châtelet on felicity and time, prefiguring quantum theory. Image and utterance seldom coincide; the charred tree is partitioned in 14 shots in the arid continuum. A sudden torrent of baroque sounds by Jean-Féry Rebel saturates the space, binding voice, landscape, and listener within one resonance. The work permits its phenomena to remain suspended in speculative intimacy. The spectator supplies the connective tissue.