It could be a chair. A rack. A dish rest. A throne for something not yet born. Object No. 9 does not declare its purpose — it waits for yours. Printed in resin and conjured from intuition, it recalls the skeletal limbs of a mythic beast, pausing mid-transformation. Tilt it upright, lay it down, hang something on it, or sit. It does not mind. It offers possibility, not instruction. In a world obsessed with usefulness, Object No. 9 insists on being undefined — a relic from a story we haven’t finished telling.