Wednesday afternoon, Thea's studio contained two chairs, one standing lamp, plus a white wall scarred by charcoal fingerprints. She had cleared every other student's canvas from the nearest section, creating privacy without pretending the room belonged only to us. Nina placed her bag near the door after checking where cameras waited.
"No hidden equipment," Thea said, pointing toward one digital camera on a visible tripod, "I will use photographs for proportions only, then delete them after you approve the final piece."
"Show us deletion afterward," Nina replied, reading the consent sheet while I examined the taped floor marks.
"Yes," Thea said, adding the request beside her own signature before offering the page toward both of us.
