

A small tiled changing room after everyone has gone, lit only by a slice of light through the half open door from the studio, falling across the bench and leaving the rest of the room unreadable. She sits on the bench in that slice with her back against the lockers, over to the left, a heavy dark street coat and outdoor boots pulled on over her working clothes, the black leotard still visible at her neck and her bare legs still in footless tights above the boots, her knees apart and her feet flat on the floor. Her hair is down and damp. One hand hangs between her knees holding a phone she is not looking at; her head is back against the metal and her eyes are half closed. Around her the debris of the room - a towel over a locker door, one shoe on its side, an open bag. She looks exhausted and completely uninterested in being seen. Camera at bench height, level, from across the room. one slice of hard light, everything outside it black, sharp focus on her face. In the lower right corner, a pencil signature: Ziggy