Resin, patience, and dust

Stage seven of the ladder is resin, and it is still locked. Not because the pours are not ready; because the room is not. Epoxy wants cross-ventilation, a respirator with organic vapor cartridges, and a place where a wet panel can sit for a day without collecting the ceiling's opinion of it.

The studio rule is that hazardous crafts unlock on safety, not on enthusiasm. Hours painted count for stages one through five; stages six and seven open when the gate conditions are physically true, and not one session earlier. Glass glitter is glass. Resin fumes are fumes. The ladder waits.

In the meantime, every finished panel that needs a flood coat queues on the shelf, and the practice page says so publicly. The queue is honest pressure: fix the room, earn the stage, pour the glass. The panels are patient. Dust is not.