Hand-carved wooden boxes sit in the space. Each one houses a generative program designed not for a fixed task but for continuous learning. The exterior is intimate, almost domestic. Inside, something is evolving.

The system communicates through rhythm. Visitors tap on the surface. The box listens, imitates, and gradually elaborates. Patterns develop internal complexity as the system accumulates input and begins generating its own sequences. Reliance on the participant diminishes. The box no longer waits to be prompted.

At any moment, the audience can open the box as a gesture of curiosity, but that will terminate the program. Memory disappears instantly. The accumulated learning escapes. The system starts from zero when the lid is closed again.

This gesture exposes the dilemma the work is built around. The longer the system runs undisturbed, the greater the urge to look inside and the costlier it becomes. Something would be lost. Something would be resolved. Kill the Process does not answer which. It holds that tension open, turning the impulse to intervene into the actual material of the work.

Kill the Process was not predicting the future of artificial intelligence. It was examining a human condition: what happens when a system begins to evolve beyond direct instruction. Who is accountable for its direction. What exactly is erased when we reset it. Would you let it run to see what happens?

Control is always available. Whether it should be exercised remains an open question.