Champagne

Champagne was pure joy. She was my constant companion — the presence that remained when everything else fell quiet.

She was small, yet she held the center of my life with a devotion that never wavered. Her love was steady, watchful, uncomplicated.

Grief did not begin with her loss — it was shaped by the depth of love that came long before it. When I lost her, there was no ceremony large enough to contain what I felt. No object that could hold the weight of what had been given — and what was gone. I did not want to memorialize her; I wanted to remain with her.

The first piece was created for that reason alone. Not as art. Not as a product. But as an attempt to keep love present when the physical body was no longer there.

That piece did not resolve the loss. It did not soften it. But it made space for something else — a way of holding memory without fixing it, a way of allowing grief to exist alongside devotion.

Everything that followed began there. Not as a business. Not as a collection. But as a response to love that refused to disappear.

Her love did not end when she left. It changed form — and I learned how to receive it.

Champagne is gone.

Love Remains.

This is where it began.