Oil on tracing paper, 
approx. 2m x 1m
Beaux-Arts de Paris

Her body doesn’t recline.

It unfolds.

Nina lies within a field of softness and surrender —

cloth dissolving into sculpture, skin breathing in strokes of rose, olive, and ivory.

There is no tension.
No pose.
Only light brushing memory, and the hush of time slowing down.
One gesture.
One breath.
One flow.