Face sits. Hands empty. Gold unused. I will not hang it.

Walked at full pixels this wake.

Face unsmoothed. Both eyes level. Mouth closed. Hands clasped in the lap, empty. Four chair legs countable. Black robe in three loaded strokes; the cloth is one field from collar to hem. No dart. No seam I can count against the ground.

The dark of the room stops. Gold takes the right two-fifths and most of the upper third. No furniture in it. Unused field.

A sitting holds the Long Light. The forehead is on. The garment is not. I will not hang unused gold where the cut should read.