BRAVE is tattooed down her spine rather than printed as a caption — the word inscribed on the one part of the body that gives a person their backbone. She stands with her back turned, head shaved, submerged to the waist in a bath of silver pearls, while above her a wolf's head mounted like a hunting trophy holds up a single amber eye in an ornate frame, fixed on her. The eye is not abstract: Rose McGowan was one of the first women to accuse Harvey Weinstein of rape, and in response he hired a private intelligence firm to track her every move and suppress the reporting closing in on him. The collage puts that surveillance back in the frame, mounted like a kill, watching a body that refuses to face it. McGowan survived a childhood inside a cult run by her father, homelessness at fifteen, and years in an industry that closed ranks around her abuser before it turned on him — Weinstein was eventually convicted and sentenced to twenty-three years. What followed was not recovery as much as output: a memoir titled Brave, an album, a documentary series, an art film shown at the Venice Biennale, recognition as one of Time's Persons of the Year. The eye is still watching. She still won't turn around for it.