Presentation part 2 (Commission)

The soft murmur of conversation filled the gallery, punctuated by the occasional clink of champagne glasses. Warm spotlights cast a glow on the paintings and photographs adorning the walls, each piece a testament to the two artists at the heart of the evening.

Charlotte maneuvered her wheelchair smoothly across the polished wooden floor, having just finished speaking with a journalist when a woman, approached one of her canvases with a contemplative expression. The painting in question was a black and white abstract, a swirl of bold strokes and delicate smudges, emotion spilling onto the canvas without the need for color.

“This is extraordinary,” the woman murmured, turning to Charlotte. “The energy, the passion—it’s truly remarkable.” She hesitated for a brief moment, then smiled in a way that suggested she believed she was about to offer a great compliment. “You are so inspiring. It’s incredible to see someone with… your condition create something so powerful. You are very talented for somebody in a wheelchair.”

Charlotte barely batted an eye. A mischievous smile curled her lips as she tilted her head slightly. “Well,” she said smoothly, “it’s a good thing I don’t paint with my feet.”

A few steps away, Miranda raised a hand to cover her mouth, stifling a chuckle.

The woman blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh! I—I didn’t mean—”

Charlotte let her grin widen. “It’s alright,” she said, her tone light but firm. “I get it a lot. People assume art has to come from movement, but it really just comes from here.” She tapped her temple lightly, then gestured toward her chest. “And here.”

The woman’s face softened, her posture shifting ever so slightly. “I suppose I never thought about it that way.”

Miranda finally let her chuckle escape, shaking her head as she glanced at Charlotte. “You really do have a way with words.”

Charlotte smirked. “I like to keep people on their toes.”

The elegant woman smiled now, genuinely. “I admire that. And your work.”

Charlotte nodded in appreciation, and as the woman moved on, Miranda leaned in, whispering, “One of these days, someone’s going to spill their wine after a comment like that.”

Charlotte just shrugged, her eyes twinkling. “Now that would be art.”

They both laughed as the evening continued, their work speaking for itself, just as it always had.