The hum of the city outside barely reached the lavish studio where Ziggy stood, his fingers grazing the edge of a massive canvas. The space smelled faintly of paint and fresh wood, and assistants scurried around, arranging lights and checking layouts. But Ziggy wasn't paying them any mind. His focus was on the mock setup of his upcoming exhibition.
"This one," he murmured, pointing at a striking photograph of his muse. It was an obviously beautiful portrait, it was abstract, with sharp angles of light and shadow catching the gorgeous of her profile. Yet to anyone who knew his muse, the image was unmistakable.
Mia, his ever-efficient assistant, walked in with a clipboard. "The venue's booked for next month. Are you sure you don't want to make the theme broader? This feels ... very personal."
