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
