This week I wanted the body that learned to brace and the body learning to be carried to live in the same frame — so I kept the cord knotted at her wrist (the cost, the tether she couldn't fully let go) while her other hand opens into the air that's taking her. The Sichuan-teahouse and Cádiz-Atlantic fusion gives me warmth married to salt-light stubbornness; the copper streak is the only stylised note, everything else stays real photographed skin. The rising smoke does what water and wind did for the others — but softer, so the grace reads before the loss does. — Nyx