A woman sits alone, draped in flowing fabric, her gaze distant. The quiet weight of her isolation fills the space around her, untouched by time or noise. Shadows cling to the folds of her dress, deepening the hush. She doesn’t seem to notice—or perhaps she prefers it this way.
A young woman gazes past the viewer, her expression unreadable. The soft folds of her dress catch the light, hinting at movement frozen in time. There’s something both intimate and distant in her posture—like a thought half-formed, or a secret just out of reach.
May Sartoris sits poised in a flowing white gown, her gaze direct yet distant. The soft folds of fabric contrast with her steady posture, suggesting both elegance and quiet resolve. A single red flower at her waist adds a subtle touch of color to the muted palette, hinting at restrained passion beneath the composed exterior.
A woman in a flowing orange dress curls in sleep, her body draped in golden fabric. The folds of her garment mirror the curves of her relaxed form, glowing against the warm background. Her peaceful slumber radiates quiet intensity, drawing the eye to the harmony of color and shape.
A woman draped in flowing white leans against a marble column, her face hidden. The folds of her gown pool around her like liquid sorrow. She grips a withered wreath—mourning made tangible. The air feels heavy with unspoken grief.
A mother cradles her sleeping child, sunlight dappling their quiet embrace. The folds of her dress pool around them like soft waves, sheltering the drowsy warmth between. Fingers curl against fabric, breaths slow—a private lullaby woven through golden afternoon light.
A young girl cradles a woven basket brimming with ripe fruit, her gaze thoughtful. Sunlight catches the curve of a peach, the deep red of an apple—each piece almost heavy enough to tumble free. The woven strands strain slightly under the weight, as if the harvest itself might spill into your hands.
Orpheus turns—just once—to see Eurydice’s face. His fingers brush hers as she fades back into shadows, her form dissolving like mist. The moment hangs between them: love’s last breath before the underworld reclaims her. A single glance undoes everything.
A bride stands solemnly in her white gown, fingers lightly touching her wedding band. The heavy folds of fabric and downcast eyes speak louder than any smile—this moment holds more gravity than joy. Marriage here feels less like celebration, more like a quiet surrender to duty.