E:KO ᛟ HEIR — 150 Pieces: Why Limitation Is Liberation

Infinity exhausts. Endless menus, infinite scrolls, the theatre of choice that somehow makes choosing harder. I work the other way: a run of 150 and then the season is closed. Not to manufacture urgency, but to keep the work human-scale—attention over automation, care over churn, memory over mass.

One through one-hundred-fifty feels like a dinner party rather than a stadium. Shared enough to belong to a small community, specific enough to matter to a person. For the maker, constraint is a compass; it forces decisions that abundance postpones. You can’t keep adding “one more” when the count is finite. You edit, you commit, you sign your name to what remains.

For the keeper, finitude clarifies use. Number 037 is not inventory. It’s a place in a sequence that will end, which changes how you light it. You plan an evening rather than pass a moment. You witness hours instead of spending them unnoticed. Limitation sharpens attention; attention is the scarce luxury.

There are things that should be endless—air, water, kindness. Objects do not need that burden. They earn meaning from edges. When a run closes, the work moves into memory and use. No restocks. No replays. The energy returns to making, not repeating.

That slight melancholy as the count approaches its edge is part of the beauty: late-August sweetness, the last pages of a novel, a long goodbye when the train is almost here. Quality needs time to make, and time to live with. The number protects both.