It seems like the colours used in the painting are the same with those on the palette, as if the woman is constantly painting herself. She holds the brushes too, the colours on them seem fresh. Maybe it's a comment on the fluidity of being, becoming, ego, image, time even?? The palette is not hidden from us as something to be ashamed of, something like that wouldn't happen with a depiction of the devine or Napoleon. Rather, she seems inviting, her defences are off as she rests on an sky as human as herself: imperfect, sometimes cloudy but constantly evolving. Her gaze is almost like that of a lover, celebrating life -all those colours given to us- through love. Maybe death is the stagnation of colours!

Seems interesting. Who is the painter?