She said the problem was not scarcity, but priority. When something was declared optional, it was often handled casually, even when presented in the language of access. He recognised the firmness of that observation immediately. She was not arguing against making things public. She was pointing to the responsibility that followed once they were.

They had passed the work earlier without stopping. It reached outward without holding attention. Not offensive. Just thin. The impression lingered.

Over coffee, she wondered aloud whether it really mattered. Not whether it was good or bad, but whether something like that needed to exist at all. He replied that the issue was not existence, but obligation. To place something before the public without depth or intention was not neutral. It was a public injustice, softened by generous language and lowered expectations.

She spoke about how a culture shaped from within did not perform creativity on cue, or reserve it for moments of display. Culture appears in how people spoke, and how carefully words were chosen. In how they moved through shared space. In how they dressed, not for quantity or brand recognition, but with regard for their own being and for others nearby.

He listened, then said that this was often where institutions revealed themselves. When everyday standards were treated lightly, what entered public space carried the same looseness. Creativity became episodic, activated when required, then set aside.

They finished their coffee. Nothing dramatic had shifted. Still, he understood what she meant. What those in power chose to place before the public did not simply occupy space. It shaped what endured, what was forgotten, and how people learned, quietly, to tell the difference.