Alberto Giacometti works in his cramped Paris studio, plaster dust coating the floor, half-finished figures crowding every surface. The camera stays close as he shapes his elongated bronze figures, scraping and rebuilding the same clay form again and again, talking through his doubts about whether a sculpture is ever actually finished. Cigarette smoke, cluttered shelves of maquettes, and the narrow walls he painted with sketches give a sense of how little space separated his living quarters from his working life. Interviews and footage from the mid-1960s show him revisiting pieces he had already cast, unsatisfied, chipping away at figures other artists would have called complete. The film treats the studio itself as a kind of collaborator, cramped and unglamorous, shaping the thin, weathered look of his figures as much as any conscious decision did. It is a plain, close look at a working method built on constant dissatisfaction rather than a tidy account of finished masterpieces.