Easy and simple, Hayley Marie Coppin says, and she means it. She stands in the middle of a sun-drenched artist's studio, blazing afternoon light flooding across the honey-coloured hardwood floors and catching the exposed wooden roof beams above, and all she is wearing is a white dress. A flowing, loose, impossibly beautiful white dress that swirls around her mid-calves as she turns, her long blonde hair catching the light, framed art prints and black-and-white photography stacked against the walls around her. The round wall clock behind her seems to have stopped. In this light, in this dress, time feels like an entirely optional concept.
The white dress comes off in the most unhurried, natural way imaginable, slipping from her shoulders and drifting to the warm wooden floor as Hayley stretches out across it in a shaft of pure golden sunshine. Just her, and the light, and the kind of clean, uncomplicated beauty that needs absolutely nothing else to be completely overwhelming. No elaborate setting, no embellishment required. Just sunshine, and a white dress, and the knowledge of what comes after.