A strappy dress hangs from a plain wooden hanger, its bodice fitted and its skirt opening out into layer upon layer of ruffles in smoky browns, greys and a little blue. Shulman builds the skirt from quick, dry strokes that suggest tulle and movement without spelling out a single fold, and floats the whole thing against a pale, scrubbed background. The garment is empty, but it holds the shape of a body that isn't there. Oil on canvas, 2024, 70 by 100 centimetres.