A4 ink and watercolour illustration. I have always been intrigued by smoking and its myriad associations - with stylishness and a distrust of authority, knowing self-destruction, a sort of glue for certain communities - as well its aesthetic qualities, how fog and mist can obscure and take a life of their own when breathed out of someone’s lungs. Although the body is crumpled, emaciated and blemished with tattoos, there is a kind of force that emanates from the blemishes that become constellations on her mangled body, from the horn-antlers that emerge in a ghostly way from her head, from the flower formed of smoke she breathes out in her hand. This piece is my take on how self-destruction can be a kind of beauty in itself.