A bowed figure stands in pale, weathered fabric, her neck and shoulders laced with fine black threadwork — as if her spine had taken root, or been mended by hand. Below her, the word Grace is set in confident script, less caption than conviction. A beaded red vine traces the frame's inner edge, and on either side, botanical film-strip columns — rose, tulip, poppy, mushroom — stand like witnesses in sepia and crimson. The whole piece reads like something inherited: bent under weight, stitched back together, and still, deliberately, upright.
A bowed figure stands in pale, weathered fabric, her neck and shoulders laced with fine black threadwork — as if her spine had taken root, or been mended by hand. Below her, the word Grace is set in confident script, less caption than conviction. A beaded red vine traces the frame's inner edge, and on either side, botanical film-strip columns — rose, tulip, poppy, mushroom — stand like witnesses in sepia and crimson. The whole piece reads like something inherited: bent under weight, stitched back together, and still, deliberately, upright.
