A woman alone on a hot night, lost in thought and worn out by the day, with nothing but half a cantaloupe and a fan to keep her cool.

See the line where the lips were at first? She was smiling, but that felt wrong. So I flipped the lips and she took on this sorrowful expression.

Lost in thought, hours before the big event.

The Blessed Mother looks on as her son is tortured to death.

I planned to paint this figure to look Caucasian, but then I thought, Why not leave her as she is? A dancer isn’t always dancing. Sometimes, she’s sitting on the floor worn out by class or rehearsal.

An aristocrat and victim of the guillotine.