The brush slides across the canvas, leaving behind a faint trace of ochre. Here is an Epistat. A great Epistate, whose name thunders in history, whose thoughts are capable of moving mountains, whose will is the law. And he's... lying on your couch. Relaxed, almost serene. His naked torso, bathed in the soft light of the evening sun filtering through the heavy curtains, is a temptation that awaits me at every stage of my work.

— «Don't get distracted, draw,» his voice sounds, quiet but commanding, like the whisper of an ancient soothsayer.

He doesn't pose. It's just there. His body, with muscles showing under the skin, with barely noticeable scars telling about his life, full of inner strength, attracts the eye with irresistible force. Every muscle, every curve is a symphony of movement, frozen in a resting position. His shoulders are wide as rocks, his hands are folded on his stomach, his fingers, scarred by time, squeeze a barely noticeable fold in the sheet. The light plays on his skin, highlighting the relief, emphasizing the mastery of nature, which created this perfection.

But you have to draw his face. A stern, granite-hewn face, on which the magnitude of his achievements was imprinted. A person who keeps a secret on a universal scale. His lips are slightly compressed, as if he is storing some important thought, his eyebrows are drawn with determination, his gaze is focused and penetrating – all this requires maximum concentration.

Every attempt to capture and convey this depth, this complexity, becomes a struggle. Fighting the temptation to take another look at the perfect lines of his body, wanting to catch every glimmer of light on his skin.