A Black woman bends forward in quiet repose, rendered in soft sepia wash with a torso dissolving into fine, thread-like linework — as if grace itself were something stitched rather than simply given. A hand-lettered “Grace” sits at the figure’s feet like a signature or a blessing, bordered by a vine of small red berries that reads almost like embroidery. The outer frame runs in strips of botanical film — roses, poppies, mushrooms, tulips — each one boxed like a specimen slide, turning the whole piece into something between a shrine and a keepsake album.
A Black woman bends forward in quiet repose, rendered in soft sepia wash with a torso dissolving into fine, thread-like linework — as if grace itself were something stitched rather than simply given. A hand-lettered “Grace” sits at the figure’s feet like a signature or a blessing, bordered by a vine of small red berries that reads almost like embroidery. The outer frame runs in strips of botanical film — roses, poppies, mushrooms, tulips — each one boxed like a specimen slide, turning the whole piece into something between a shrine and a keepsake album.
