Ibrahim

You’d find Ibrahim leaning over a piece of paper in 17th-century Isfahan, ink pot at his elbow and a thin brush in hand, sketching a single cypress tree that leans like a dancer. He leaves no dates behind, just these swooping black lines and pools of color that feel faster than they look. Hunt down his Untitled leaf from 1685–92 on the museum site, you only need twenty seconds to feel the breeze it captured.