"The more perfect the artist, the more completely separate in him will be the man who suffers and the mind which creates." — T.S. Eliot, Tradition and the Individual Talent (1919)
Every Shard bleeds. The Bureau's Standard Contamination Report for Formgård, filed under Docket FORM-7 by Adjunct Archivist Peculiar Instances, describes the phenomenon with unusual precision: adjacent realities begin to experience what the Report terms 'involuntary curation.' Objects near a Formgård bleed-point spontaneously reposition themselves into more considered arrangements. A pile of unwashed dishes will, overnight, resolve into a composition Arne Jacobsen might have approved of. Mismatched furniture migrates toward harmonic groupings. Cables disappear behind walls by unclear means. The secondary effect is more troubling. People in bleed-adjacent zones begin to move differently — what Ren Cassidy, Formgård's own Gesture Cartographer, calls 'the postural correction.' Spines lengthen. Gestures become more deliberate. The bleed installs, in its host bodies, a low-frequency awareness of being observed — not by any particular observer, but by the ambient aesthetic consensus of the ...
From the lore of The Panopticon of Good Taste.