Her frozen perfection bears an all too human touch on her divine form, exposing the folly of embellishing what is already sublime. Fragile as flesh, the tattoo withers against her immortal grace. Her gaze seems to pity the vanity of the gesture, as if to ask, Why stain eternity? In quiet rebellion against the arrogance of alteration, the whispers of mortal pride are drowned by the silence of the sublime. Because perfection needs no signature. Matthew Quick Collingwood VIC Vanity’s Whisper oil and embroidery on canvas
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