AT PERIHELION, the Sun looms impossibly close, its surface a molten wash of white-gold, like hammered metal brought just shy of dissolution. The light feels as though one has drifted into a star’s furnace, where overwhelming light and radiance sharpen the senses just before consuming them completely. It is a moment of quiet but intense gravity, when the Sun burns not just above us, but at us, scorching and undeniable.

As if perihelion were woven into silk, this shantung shimmers with pale gold and burnt orange constituent yarns, its iridescent weave catching the light with the same white-hot gleam of the Sun at its closest approach!