Eloise
The gallery lights cast a muted gold across the white walls, each display plinth glowing like a moonlit altar. I stood near the entrance, my palms damp, watching as buyers, stylists, and press filtered in with hushed admiration. Their voices hummed around me – snippets of praise, curious questions, reverent silence when their gazes fell on each piece.
My pieces.
Each sculptural work sat in minimalist isolation under glass domes or mounted on clear acrylic stands. Rough-brushed silver twisted around molten gold in jagged cuffs and layered chokers. Bronze interlaced with black rhodium in raw, brutal earrings shaped like shattered wings. At the centre of the gallery, a heavy breastplate necklace dominated its plinth – wide hammered silver segments inspired by Max’s drawing of an iro
