The building is a sequence of boxes, a Russian doll that forgot to stop. Brick on the outside, glass inside, turquoise in the middle. The outer layer blocks heat and sun, the inner layer behaves. Temperature is architecture here. The ground floor is a catch-all: exhibition, workshop, class, gallery, gathering. Another brick box sits southwest, making shade and a kind of preface to the main box. It holds the toilets, the stairs, the stuff that usually hides. The project looks at Iranian architecture sideways. The Iwan becomes a climatic device again, not nostalgia. Two protective layers wrap the program like a slow-motion shield. The brick outer box is thick, stubborn, overprotective. The transparent inner box negotiates with the weather. The turquoise core erupts through the roof, insisting on being seen. Function is inside, symbol is outside, but both are the same shape.