When Carlos landed in Monaco, the world felt too clean.
Too polished, too cold, too… not him.

He had arrived with nothing but two suitcases ... one filled with clothes, the other with canvases and brushes and the lingering smell of turpentine.
He’d promised himself this trip would be a fresh start. A six-month residency, a chance to prove himself as more than that Carlos Sainz ... the one whose art “lacked purpose,” according to critics who never understood that his chaos was the purpose.