Wesley.

His catchphrase is a brake. When the tone rises during a mediation, Wesley doesn't answer back louder: he looks down at the file, says "one moment," jots something down, and asks one specific question — what time exactly? — and the volume drops on its own, because the other person has to reach for a fact instead of a feeling. He never raises his voice. That way he has of bringing down conflicts without pushing is what this bag carries, invisibly, along with the shopping.

It's built for the trot: the market, the fruit, the bread, the papers on the way back home, whatever comes up. You sling it over your shoulder, fill it, empty it, and do the same the next day. In the portrait you only see the lemur's kind face; the rest travels inside, invisible. I created it face-on, against a plain background: on fabric it's recognizable at once. The rest of his day is in his biography — it doesn't fit on a handle.