Shinobu Kocho, mid-turn, with her haori opening into wings behind her.
The butterflies were the whole job. Each one has a full wing pattern, and they had to get smaller and looser as they moved out from her so the eye would read depth instead of clutter. Drawing the same shape thirty times at shrinking scale is a strange kind of meditation — by the twentieth one your hand knows it better than you do.
Shot in afternoon sun with jasmine from the balcony sitting on the corner of the page. The flowers were not planned. They were just there, and they smelled like the room I drew this in.