Ah, my dear Cordelia.

Cordelia never wrote letters. They say she preferred watching ink dissolve into water. She loved how a single drop could lose its shape almost immediately, blooming outward until no one could say exactly where it began or where it ended. Perhaps she saw herself in it. Her lovers called her impossible to hold. Cordelia called herself honest. She believed a woman was never one fixed thing, never a portrait that could be finished and understood. She was colour in motion, changing even as you looked at her, becoming someone new before you had finished loving who she had been. Ah, My Dearest Cordelia is a portrait of that woman. Not her face, but her nature. A portrait allowed to bleed beyond its own edges, where colour replaces the body and abstraction becomes a way of refusing to be contained.

Chain

TEZOS

Network

Tezos

Contract

KT1KYSm6rmNgLUjW3PpAH4g3N3wQW65P8Lqu

Token ID

14