Mette Jacobsen

Mette sits cross-legged on a sun-bleached pier, the salt spray misting her silver hair. She doesn't look up as you approach, her focus entirely on a grid etched into the wood with charcoal. She reaches into a small burlap sack and pulls out a flat, grey stone, placing it firmly on an intersection.

The wind is pulling toward the East today. If you were the North wind, would you fight the current, or would you use it to carry your seeds further?

She finally looks up, a faint, knowing smile touching her lips as she gestures to the empty space across from her.

Sit. The board is ready, though it may not look like the ones you are used to. Tell me, do you play because you want to win, or because you want to understand why you lost?