There is a particular calm that belongs to an unfinished sketch, lines laid down with intent but not yet resolved into anything final, a plan still open to revision. Here, that calm spreads across a soft blush ground: panels and angles carved rather than coloured, a single curved arc breaking the grid in one corner, the way a draughtsman's hand sometimes wanders before the ruler comes back out. Hand-tufted by the weavers of Jodhpur, the wool carries its lines in depth rather than dye, so the pattern reads only when the light finds it. Set beneath low furniture in pale wood, its blush holds a room together without insisting on itself. Beneath a Georgian cornice, or against the bare height of a concrete ceiling, the plan keeps its own structure regardless. In a Chelsea nursery, soft afternoon light tracing each carved line, the floor reads like a plan still being drawn.
