THE LAST FERRY
On a pier stands a woman who moves against the current, who escapes the hypnotic cycle of the seasons, who claims a different pace: her own rhythm, her own style, her own time. Like a contrary tide, she doesn't seek herself in the noise, but in spaces left by the crowds, in private moments where she rediscovers her essence, her truest and authentic self.
The journey is not mere transit; it is a story that needs no audience. She is the sole protagonist and spectator, suspended between the sea's lightness and the solidity of the cliffs. Her path is an aesthetic act of extremes: strength and delicacy, definition and fluidity, elegance and rebellion.
She wears sartorial coats and furs that wrap her like voluminous clouds against the horizon. She slips into slender, fitted dresses, pierced with slits and metal hooks. She surrenders to soft knits, to yarns with subtle dyes, to structured fabrics reimagined in soft, masculine tailoring.
In her suitcase: her Dancing Skin shoes and boots with sharp or squared toes; rigid but sinuous jewelry; bags as capacious and versatile as the spirit of a free, independent traveler without borders.
And right there — in that interplay of textures and emotions, between rocks and waves, between the last rays of the sun and the anticipation of dusk — she finds her voice again, in the perfect, seductive balance of contrasts.
