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Sweet Hope

Sweet Hope

Description : Sweet Hope

New York City

Running across the road, I dodged people left and right in my rush to get to my interview on time. The New York weather was humid and sweltering. I was so happy I’d tied my long hair back in a bun.

Gripping tightly onto my purse, I jogged along the sidewalk, frantically checking my watch. My plane had been delayed and getting ready in a Boeing 737’s tiny bathroom cubicle wasn’t exactly ideal for presenting flawless makeup and hair.

But it was worth it. This was all for the exhibition of my dreams. I intended to nail this interview. There was no choice. I would do anything to curate this show… even fly to the East Coast last minute from California to land it... even leave my beautiful newly-curated Contemporary Art gallery at UCLA in the hands of the Art Director.

Finally reaching the front of the Met, I ran up the stairs in my favorite black Louboutins, straightening out my black sleeveless dress as I reached the top.

Pausing, I inhaled through my nose, and with a slow exhale from my mouth, pulled back my shoulders and walked into the entrance.

In minutes I was whisked away to the private offices by the museum director’s assistant and told to wait in a small room dominated by a large wooden table and six chairs. Artwork, from up anding artists, was hung without rhyme or reason on the white walls. I slumped into a chair, nervously playing with my hands.

Hearing footsteps outside the room, I forced myself to relax and straightened up just as an older man walked into the room.

Vin Galanti. The famous sculptor himself.

Vin was dressed all in tweed, his gray hair a fluffy halo enveloping his head....