Once upon a time, Twenty-Forty-Six was a warehouse filled to the brim with blue-collar workers, grease, and spit. Listen closely and one might still hear the drills and hammers of tools plying their trade. But, like most things, the march of time took it's payment and Twenty-Forty-Six was given new life as a house of Imagination.
Open and expansive, glass and brick commingle in an intentionally uneasy pairing. Cement floors give off a glossy sheen and the stain treatment beneath are in colors of varying shades of browns, deep greens, and burnt-sienna. Large white walls are arranged all around the gallery, lit up by warm white light that hang above to show-case works from local Sacramento Artists. Wood benches remain vigilant for those who'd rather sit and stay awhile enjoying the pieces from a new perspective.
In the back, enclosed in glass, is the office space for the Gallery, including Aaren's desk. All of it bereft of her staff, having been given the night off for Aaren's private gathering. Finger-food provided by Mrs. Rosemary are arranged in unobtrusive places awaiting the Fairest's 'silent-benefactors,' the freehold, ahead of any official opening to the Public.
Aaren languidly moves through the space, a bright spot of color in an electric blue shift-dress and bright orange pumps, her hair tumbling in waves behind her; surveying the world around her in the silence before the first arrivals.
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