Bryan Whalen

The woman. The French countryside. The golden light of late summer. Dry grass and dusty fruit trees and the fuming exhale of afternoon heat. A classic countryside chateau, crisp laundry swaying from an open window. The woman. Chlorine and cigarette smoke. Droplets of pool water clinging to bare skin. She wears nothing but sunglasses, cat-eyed and champagne-hued.

The woman. The French countryside. The golden light of late summer. Dry grass and dusty fruit trees and the fuming exhale of afternoon heat. A classic countryside chateau, crisp laundry swaying from an open window. The woman. Chlorine and cigarette smoke. Droplets of pool water clinging to bare skin. She wears nothing but sunglasses, cat-eyed and champagne-hued.

The woman. The French countryside. The golden light of late summer. Dry grass and dusty fruit trees and the fuming exhale of afternoon heat. A classic countryside chateau, crisp laundry swaying from an open window. The woman. Chlorine and cigarette smoke. Droplets of pool water clinging to bare skin. She wears nothing but sunglasses, cat-eyed and champagne-hued.