I listened to a handsome man wax lyrical about perfume pills and the intersection of art, science and fashion. In the centre of a large but welcoming room a pyramid of Neon lights framed an offering to the Gods.  To one side a crowd gravitated inwards and toward the light.  An impressively talented collective rubbed shoulders in the adjacent hall.  And there was  Vexta.  A modest figure laughing among friends,  the admiration she commanded speaking volumes about the artist that she is. 

Kathryn Baulch and the divine Leilani



 
 
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