Rain Order. Thunder rolls above the tin roof. SWG3—a music venue alive with motion. People move through the space, a current of energy. It is 4pm. April locks her studio door for the evening, securing her paintings within—a contained space, like a pocket of memory. Sealed. Safe.

Outside, the rain is torrential. She runs to the car, coat clutched close. Around her, people queue for tonight’s show, soaked but undeterred.

Rain Order, in January.