James Andrews

James Andrews kept a small, messy desk in a London attic where he painted tiny portraits no wider than a postage stamp. He worked in watercolours so thin they looked like stains, letting the paper show through like skin. His sitters were usually strangers he’d spot in coffeehouses, their faces half-finished before the light shifted. Tap Portrait of a Man to zoom in—it’s just five inches tall, but you’ll see how he built a whole expression with three wet brushstrokes.