The day's last light fell upon the Gutenberg Gallery like the kiss from a dying sun, alighting upon the brick in the vibrant, warm hues of flame. The beaten metal sign which proclaimed the gallery's name shone in brilliant ornament above the building's entrance and the stately notes of a violin sonata drifted from within the opened doors. A small advertisement upon a wrought iron stand stood next to the gallery doors, announcing the showing and bidding welcome to any who wished to enter, inviting them for an evening of music, art, and champagne. Such was the only outward sign of the event, as rich, cloth curtains had been drawn across the towering windows of the gallery, proof against the final glare of the sun and safeguard of the showing's atmosphere.
Indeed, as soon as the Temoins du Sud enter the building, and step around a carefully arranged cloth screen, yet another light precaution, they emerge into a space which has been explicitly cultured to provide the maximum emphasis to the art pieces on display. A small reception desk sits near the entrance, the one capitulation to the demands of business, yet the rest of the space is filled only with paintings and those perusing them. A few waiters with trays of champagne circulate through the room, and at the end of the gallery, upon the stage, sits Isabella playing arrangements of classical musical from memory. A few groups have clustered near her, yet most seem content to let the music remain as merely yet another texture of the atmosphere as they gaze upon Leeba's paintings. The five paintings depicting Temoins du Sud are spread throughout the gallery, small yet prominent SOLD stickers sitting across the prices under their informational displays, and all around them are other works of brilliant color. It seems that Leeba's work vacillates between the fantastic and the hauntingly morbid with a strange sense of ease, a few of her pieces even displaying a compelling mixture of the two, and such softens the most shocking of her work.
The artist herself can be found chatting with the patrons, her fellow comrades in creative craft doing the same spread throughout the room. Most of the guests sport formal attire, though a few who appear to have wandered off the street provide a more casual counterpoint. And, amidst it all prowls a distinguished looking man in a black suit which eschews a tie, white teeth flashing in confident smile as he chats with the patrons and guests, and keen eyes rove over the assembled faces, hunting for any sign of displeasure. Perhaps that is the mysterious Johann.
Music
Just for fun, feel free to imagine and describe any of the paintings
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