Strands of pubic hair or wisps of grass in the landscape? Rolling breasts and plump buttocks or a stark desert drift? In Carnações (1982) the roots of the black hair poking up over the fleshy horizon are obscured by what we might guess to be a leg; a huge pale dune that falls across the middle of the canvas. Beyond are further rolls of skin in repose and finally the mound of a breast, made unambiguous only because of the nipple. In the distance, against the night-sky-blue background, some toes finally give the game away: we are looking at a nude, not a landscape. Since the 1960s the human body in Pietrina Checcacci’s hands - and there’s lots of hands and fingers and fingernails in her paintings too - has taken the appearance of a sort of sublime geography; flesh made earth in an eco-sexual fever-dream.