The front of the building was a clothing shop, the back below the atelier was the shop’s storeroom. They had just closed for the day; she would have peace and quiet to work for the rest of the afternoon and evening. In here no one commented on the mess, the music, or the turpentine smell. The atelier was her biggest luxury and her only necessary expense. Jenny would rather give up her tiny apartment near Nørrebro Circle than do without this place.

She pulled a sheet of thick watercolor paper off her Canson pad, secured it with clips to a plywood board, and set it on the easel. Placed charcoal sticks and powdered charcoal ready on the floor, got out rags and the spray fixative to set the work once the drawing was finished. She hummed to herself. The preparations that preceded the actual artmaking were so ingrained in her fingers that she became one with them. Once everything was ready she chose a charcoal stick from the jar and brought it to the blank paper without hesitation.

Her students often asked about inspiration, where it came from and how it got converted into art. Jenny never knew what to answer. For her, drawing and painting were as intuitive and natural as breathing. She just did it, let her fingers be the link between soul and paper. The picture took shape on the canvas without her conscious awareness. She was often surprised at the scenes that materialized before her, even though they had been created by her own hands.

She listened to the scratch of the charcoal stick against the paper. When she stood like this in front of the easel, time literally disappeared. Morning turned into evening and night became noon without her registering it.

Jenny took a step back from the easel, forcing herself to snap out of her trance and look at the nascent picture. She saw a familiar form, a body with its face turned away and pale, naked limbs. She recalled the countless exhibits of Rodin’s drawings, Duchamp’s elementary parallelism, and Picasso’s portraits that her gallery-owning parents had dragged her and her sister to throughout their childhood. Those images had forever become embedded in her flesh. They lived in her and comforted her when she felt lost.