Sleeping, it seemed, was the one thing that the artist was willing to put off entirely.
Or, perhaps, the Harper had little need for it in the first place? It was hard to say. Regardless, Paha had found a good, common area in the complex to work, a place that got good sun and plenty of light otherwise. It was an early morning, just before most were truly up and moving. A small easel had been set up in that shared space and the Harper was busy translating an assortment of sketches and written notes into a proper series of studies.
Paint had not yet been applied to a palette, however; no, this part of the process was merely getting ideas onto stretched canvas, to ultimately produce a work that would be suitable to send North for further study. At least, that was the hope. There would be plenty of other material to compile - and, indeed, most of that material would be transferred into a book format for ease of study and research - but the artist was not about to let this particular subject go without a proper treatment.
From a distance, however, it was impossible to tell precisely what was in the process of being created.
All one might well see of the Harper is a long, black braid of hair and loose-fitting clothes that have been splashed and stained with ink and paint over the turns. Paha's sleeves are tied up just above the elbow, trailing ribbons fluttering away while the artist worked.