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Beginning from silence so complete it almost has weight, this piece proceeds as if each sound is an argument against nothingness. Arnalds builds from absolute zero — a single sustained tone, then another, then the incremental introduction of piano and strings that accumulates not to a climax but to a kind of fullness. There is something quietly radical about a piece named for the absence of quantity that then fills itself, note by patient note. The emotional experience is of witnessing something come into being — not the dramatic instant of creation but the slow gathering of form from formlessness. His use of electronic texture here is particularly delicate, the kind of processing that sits beneath acoustic sound like a foundation you only notice when it's gone. The tempo is unhurried to the point of defying conventional musical time, operating instead on the scale of breath or geological shift. It is music for the very early morning before language reconstitutes itself from sleep, or for meditation that does not require the practitioner to empty the mind but simply to slow it. Among Arnalds' catalog, this represents his most quietly philosophical impulse — the conviction that the most meaningful musical gesture is sometimes the one made with greatest restraint.