Work Text:
She considers herself as an artist first, and a waitress or salesperson or anything else second. Sam sold two of her bronzes because paid artists can eat, and moved to acrylics. Now she creates in textures, fabrics and seashells and cigarette butts, placed on her canvas and pinned into place with paint and shellac and carpenter's glue.
At her shows, the bronze of the roses is always for display, never purchase. Once, she sees a man examining them, his face unknown but familiar. When she goes closer, there's nothing but an odd scent, as if the roses are still fresh.