Miami was… expressive 

It began with a red eye to MIA—the kind of flight soaked in anticipation and sin. The air on arrival was thick, warm, and unmistakably sexual. After a quick bite at a no-frills Cuban taco joint, she demanded we dive headfirst into Miami’s electric nightlife. The club was a blur of sweat, strobes, and lips that knew too much.

But morning always comes. A hearty breakfast steadies trembling hands—strong coffee, runny yolks, and quiet eye contact across a glistening glass table. The day that follows is blistering and slow: South Beach in all its glory. Skin glistens. Laughter carries on the salt breeze. Sand sticks to sunblock and half-forgotten kisses. In this painting, the chaos continues. Crashing waves and a turbulent sea choreographs the night to follow.

The composition pulses with duality—lust and release, night and day, appetite and calm. Every brushstroke is drenched in heat—but somewhere in the light, a quiet stillness tries to sober the soul.

She told stories with money,  powder and pride.

But this one—this one never needed to speak. Just laid there, golden and still, and let me paint peace, sans ego for the first time. No lesson. No longing. No drama. No games. Just closure.