«Girl with the striped towel»

She stands barefoot, arms lifted, a striped towel caught mid-unfurl above her head — red and white against the quiet warmth of bare linen. The figure is small within the canvas, placed slightly right of centre, and yet she holds the whole composition effortlessly. Her face is hidden behind the billow of fabric, and there's something freeing in that anonymity. She could be anyone. She could be you, just back from the water, shaking the afternoon off your skin. The towel is painted with real confidence — the stripes bold and graphic, the fabric catching light along its edges, the fringe at the corner suggesting genuine weight and movement. Against it, the figure is soft and warm, rendered with quiet care: the curve of her back, the slight bend of her knees, the shadow pooling dark and cool at her feet. That shadow is the only hint of ground, of place. Everything else is the linen itself, breathing beneath the paint. There is so much air in this painting. The raw canvas does what no mixed colour could — it holds the heat of a summer afternoon without trying, golden and still. Gerda has left it largely untouched, letting the texture of the weave become part of the image itself. Paint and support breathe together. It's a small, unhurried moment — drying off, coming back to yourself after a swim — but held here it feels almost ceremonial. Arms raised, fabric flying, the day still full.