Red, and nothing behind him. One saturated field, edge to edge, no horizon. The man comes up from the chest, frontal, dressed entirely in black, a flat cap set square and an agbada that takes the lower third and returns no light. Azekwoh works him in browns gone almost to black, so the light finds only a brow, a nose, the ridge of one cheek. One thin red line leaves the mouth. It goes through the beard, over the throat, and does not stop until the chest. Two small red catchlights sit in the eyes, and the eyes are on you. No gold, no chieftaincy, no one else in the frame. In New Money, the bleeding is his own.
