Lapis ground in the stone, not poured from a tube
The blue is mineral azurite pressed into plaster — a thousand years on, the wall still reads as sky.
A thousand Buddhas, tiled without repeating
Coffered ceiling grids fill the Dukhang — each cell a seated figure, each figure drawn by hand.
The mandala is the page's hidden grid
Roundels govern the layout of every bodhisattva — symmetry is doctrine, not decoration.
Faces drawn in fine line, never shaded flat
Round cheeks and tilted eyes come from a single brushed contour — the wall keeps the hand.