Camouflage

Charlotte Stevens blends into a jungle of her own making, standing among towering bird-of-paradise leaves and trailing pothos in a bright, glass-walled orangery, her sage-green ribbed co-ord almost disappearing against the foliage. The long-sleeve scoop neck and matching leggings trace every contour of her figure in soft, muted olive, the ribbed texture catching the light like corduroy. Her platinum hair hangs past her waist in a pale curtain, and outside the rain-speckled windows a grey English garden blurs into soft focus. A geometric-print ottoman and a deep grey sofa anchor the room, but Charlotte, camouflaged in green and gold, is the only living thing that matters.

She stretches across the sofa, the sage top sliding from her shoulders to reveal the ornamental ink that decorates her upper body and the heavy, round shape of her breasts beneath it. The ribbed leggings peel away next, exposing the dense, intricate leg piece that runs from her hip to her ankle, each flower and tendril as detailed as the real plants surrounding her. In the final frame Charlotte stands barefoot among the pots and leaves, entirely nude, one hand resting lightly against her chest, her white-blonde hair falling like a veil over one shoulder. She is surrounded by greenery but hidden by nothing, and the title's irony lands perfectly: a woman this striking could never truly blend in.