Pale linen falls away from an old ship’s figurehead in a quiet conservation room. The carved woman wears a sea-green dress, with folded arms and long waves of wooden hair. Cracks run through her forehead, cheeks and neck, continuing into the worn drapery below. Faded rose paint remains on the cheeks, surrounded by exposed grain and small islands of older colour.

A conservator’s cotton-gloved hands guide the fabric clear of the carved face. Behind the trestle, three colleagues work beneath a low lamp with magnifying visors and white masks. Their equipment catches narrow reflections while the sculpture stays at the centre of the view. Brushes, linen rolls and plain jars fill the bench around them.

Model sailing ships stand beneath loose protective covers along the back wall. Through the tall window, real masts and harbour lights form a second, darker collection of shapes beyond the glass. The contrast between the carefully handled wood and the night outside gives the scene a restrained sense of mystery. Every split, flake of paint and fold of linen contributes to the figurehead’s weathered presence.