Prisms always fool me. On paper they’re just neat triangles and clean lines, like something a kid could sketch.
But in the workshop, every edge has an opinion. One leans out, another pulls back, and before I know it, the whole thing feels off balance.
I keep sanding, adjusting, trying again, chasing that perfect fit that refuses to sit still. Then, out of nowhere, it clicks.
The prism stands tall, crisp, catching the light like it was easy all along.
