Her latest exhibition was titled The Beautiful Mature . It was not a retrospective of the past, but a celebration of the present.
When the last guest had left and the streetlights cast long shadows through the windows, Clara poured herself a final glass of wine. She walked through the quiet space, looking at the faces on her walls. They were beautiful, not in spite of their age, but because of it. Their style was their autobiography, written in fabric and form.
The rain clicked against the tall glass windows of the gallery, but inside, the air smelled of rich espresso, beeswax, and aged silk. This was "Aura," Clara’s lifelong dream. At sixty-two, Clara had stopped chasing trends and started curating them.