Sarah Moon French, b. 1941

A figure standing, mostly gone. Above the waist a pale jacket with a wide collar and wide sleeves, arms folded across the front, the cloth so bright it is losing its own edges. Below the waist an enormous black skirt: a solid mass with no detail in it whatever, swelling out and dropping to the bottom of the frame, where a single bare foot appears. The face is a pale oval with a dark mouth and the suggestion of eyes, and above it a hat with a white curl coming off one side.

White above, black below, and almost nothing between them that a lens would recognise as a person. The print has been worked until its own borders are ragged and blooming, and the background is flat grey with one horizontal line across it, the join of a wall and a floor. Everything that would ordinarily identify somebody has been allowed to fail.

Which leaves the clothes to do all of it. Yamamoto's shapes survive the dissolution because they were never about a body to begin with: a jacket that stands away from the shoulders, a skirt with its own volume and its own opinions. Moon has photographed fashion for fifty years by declining to describe the garment sharply, and here that refusal goes as far as it can go while the dress still wins.