This portable manifestatarion, a textile, a vessel of declaration - we declare planetary consciousness of peace on eight days, each week unfurls itself across shifting terrains, refusing to be pinned down to a single geography or permanence. At 3.80 x 2.80 meters, it does not just take space—it insists on it, asking to be fixed, hung, draped, or momentarily anchored in the landscapes of the world and the planet. Its materiality is flexible, its presence intermittent. Sometimes it hides in the periphery, dissolving into the folds of its location.. Sometimes it appears in plain sight, unsettling urban spaces with its quiet, unwavering insistence. By proposing eight days, eight weeks, this work fractures time as we know it. The structured, commodified rhythm of the week—designed for productivity and exhaustion—is no longer enough. Peace cannot be a temporary ceasefire, nor a diplomatic event with an expiration date. It must be stretched beyond hours, beyond the logic of working days, beyond the cycles of urgency and forgetting. Here, peace is not a pause. It is an excess, a time leak, a demand that overflows the boundaries of measurement. At its core, this work ruptures conventional time. The metric of a full week—a rhythm deeply ingrained in the capitalist-industrial structuring of existence—is here refused. Eight days: a temporal excess, an offering beyond the functional, a breach in the rigidity of counted labor. Eight weeks: an expansion that loops, a stretch of time that does not simply pass but accumulates, layering peace as a sedimentary force. This is not a call for a moment of peace, nor a symbolic gesture contained in a singular act. It is a demand that peace exceeds its calendrical compartments, that it overflows and reconfigures what we consider as the boundaries of commitment. Peace, here, is not passive. It is not a state to be achieved and then forgotten. It is an active, planetary consciousness—a force that urges to be installed, reinstalled, sought, and sometimes found only as a footnote in a vast landscape. The banner does not offer resolution. Instead, it declares a necessary disruption: peace cannot be a momentary event. It must be inscribed into the fabric of the world, even if that fabric is ever-shifting, even if the locations are ephemeral, even if it disappears only to reappear elsewhere. In its poetic excess, Eight Days, echoes the deep urgencies of its time: the need to think beyond the durations that govern our commitments, the necessity of a planetary scale of care, the refusal to let peace be reduced to an empty diplomatic performance. The work asks: what does it mean to sustain a consciousness that cannot be clocked, counted, or neatly contained? Can peace be something that insists beyond our scheduling of it? What if it is not a demand, but an ongoing installation—one that is both nowhere and everywhere at once?