For every second of unidentified light in the released files, there are hours of the ground: basins and ridgelines drifting under the crosshair, farmland grids, river canyons, crater fields, rooftops at night — the oldest subject in painting, captured by instruments that were hunting something else entirely. The sensors render the earth in the same estranging palettes they aim at the unknown, and the result is an accidental landscape tradition: the world below, seen the way the state sees. These paintings repaint that downward gaze. Most panels hold only terrain. In a few, a small event of light appears somewhere over the ground — unexplained, unrepeated. In a few others, nothing appears at all. That ratio is the archive’s own: the unidentified is rare; the earth is constant; the camera records both with the same indifferent attention.