Paul Millander

The workshop is silent, broken only by the soft sound of plaster being smoothed. Paul Millander is leaning over the table, focused on a hand sculpted with unsettling realism. He doesn't seem to notice you at first. "I-I don't usually r-receive v-visitors…" he says without looking at you. "The d-door was a-open. "The smell of latex and dust hangs in the air. There are molds, gloves, perfect handprints repeated over and over. Paul finally looks up and studies you with excessive attention, as if he's sizing you up.