Obscured I

Sight is the only thing taken. Everything else stays: the turn of a cheek, the line of a mouth, cream holding its ground against the cobalt. Someone is completely here.

The black wraps rather than strikes. It curves around the shoulders and closes them in, and the band across the eyes belongs to the same continuous gesture. The movement stays calm the whole way round. It is simply thorough.

To be seen while unable to see back is a particular kind of exposure, and it is the more complete for being gentle. The figure stays still inside it. The stillness reads as composure from one angle and as capture from another.

From the doorway a room already reads cooler, and it keeps reading that way for as long as anyone stays.