Not Taking Questions

A4 Art Print — 210 × 297 mm

One lamp. One armchair. A cigar that's been going for a while and a glass of something that isn't water. He's sitting exactly how he wants to sit, looking at exactly nothing, and the door is not open for discussion.

This is what the end of a long week looks like when you've stopped explaining yourself to people.

The whole room is basically one warm shadow — dark wood floors, worn leather, the kind of lamp that only lights up the part of the room you're already in. There's an ashtray on the side table. He planned to be here for a while.

No windows. No outside. Just the chair, the cigar, and the very deliberate decision to not move until he's ready.

Rich, dark browns with a single cone of warm light cutting through. The moodiest one in the series — less melancholy than It Is What It Is, more settled. This cat has made peace with something and is celebrating privately