Sin libreto, no script. Just Pipa, a room, and whatever happened next. The looseness is the whole look.

This is the one where she climbed up on the dining chair. Leather jacket, red-striped thong, and these chunky crew socks pushed down at the ankle, which should not work and absolutely does. She put a hand flat on the window glass and looked back at me like she’d just thought of something, and I just kept the shutter going.

Half of these came out of moving furniture around and missing the shot and laughing about it. No mood board, no plan, the light changing every twenty minutes as the afternoon slid sideways over Brickell. The socks were hers, the jacket was hers, the attitude was very much hers. I mostly held the camera and tried to keep up.