Every labyrinth promises an exit.

What it does not promise is that the exit will resemble the entrance. The Crystal at the Royal Ontario Museum is not a building one inhabits. It is a building one deciphers, corridor by corridor, angle by angle, shadow by shadow. The lines do not lead you. They precede you. And in following them, you begin to suspect that the architecture was never describing space at all, but something far less certain. The crooked, angular, unresolved business of being alive.