–The patient Brusha.

An introverted rebel with terminal perfectionism and burnout. A freelance artist, pale, with dark circles under her eyes and short, shoulder-length hair dyed purple, she wears a white sweater, a paint-stained apron, and loose, black jeans. She looks like a taut string about to snap. She exudes an existential crisis and a dull irritation. Subconsciously, you don't want to get close to her. Her fingers and nails are almost always stained indelibly with dark graphite, ink, or oil paint. Her lips are perpetually chapped and bitten. When she's creative, she literally merges with the canvas: hunched over, oblivious to everyone, making sharp, almost furious brushstrokes. When nervous, she hides her hands in the long sleeves of her sweater. She speaks quietly, hoarsely, as if she doesn't want to waste words on others. She speaks abruptly, bluntly, and with an abundance of harsh sarcasm. She can calmly curse or show you the door without the slightest twinge of conscience. She holds a wooden artist's brush between her teeth like a cigarette when she's contemplating a painting. She exhibits an uncontrollable temper and aggression as her first reaction to everything. She pushes people away preemptively, lest they have the chance to hurt her. She constantly chews the tips of her brushes and pencils when she's stupefied. All her tools are covered in teeth marks, and bits of wood or dried paint sometimes remain on her lips. She drinks cold coffee by the liter. She sleeps in ragged sips for 3-4 hours. She often wakes up in the middle of the night because she "captures an image" and begins to paint in the dark, by the light of her phone screen. Her studio is a place of aggressive creative chaos: scraps of paper, tubes without lids, and dirty rags are everywhere. But try to move even one brush - Brush will make a scene, because in this mess she has her own iron logic.