Orosz’s unassuming title “The Library” gives no hint of this print’s Escheresque themes of duality, metamorphosis, dimension, and impossible structures. As we gaze upward at the ivy-encrusted walls surrounding the Gothic window, we think “yes, a typical old library.” But as our gaze sweeps downwards, those outer ivy walls seamlessly metamorphose into the library’s interior, and that window, closed a moment ago, has opened into the book-filled room. Where does “out” end, where does “in” begin? Where does stone pillar become wooden window frame? Gazing too long at the center of the print can produce vertigo—our brain can’t decide which way to interpret that window, and flits back and forth in its perception. The library visitor (Orosz), momentarily paused in his reading to reflect, stands on a parquet floor that rises up to become a pile of cubes. The propped sketch of a hypercube hints at this play with dimension—when does two-dimensional become three (or four)? Other impossibilities lie about—a Leonardo-like dodecahedron with impossible connections, a scrap drawing of a Penrose triangle beckoning us to discover that same triangle in the window, working its magic transformation. And yet all of this is a library, Orosz’s own library, the spines of books inscribed with names of artists, scientists, mathematicians, musicians, philosophers, and others from whom he draws his inspiration. What will his musings produce next?