An Administrative Dispatch by Bleeker Garfield, Director of Operations
Welcome, perceptive confidantes. If you have been wondering why our official gallery launch experienced a brief, uncharacteristic delay, allow me to pull back the curtain on the logistical realities of running a very small business. And when I say very small, I mean it quite literally, as our resident artist stands exactly six inches tall. Navigating the inevitable bumps, hexes, and surprises together is simply part of the creative journey.
In anticipation of our grand opening, I submitted a bulk requisition for custom frames to house P’s latest miniature masterpieces. Seeking only the finest craftsmanship, we contracted the Dvergar Frame-Smiths of the Northern Ridge. As any folklore scholar will tell you, the Dvergar are industrious, unparalleled experts in metallurgy and woodworking. They are also, unfortunately, incredibly touchy.
In her order notes, P politely requested that the ornate filigree be scaled back so the frames would not "distract from the art." The Dvergar Guild took this as a grave insult to their ancestral carving techniques.
They fulfilled the order, yes. But being proud and deeply petty artisans, they applied a very literal enchantment to the shipment. The moment we unboxed the inventory, the frames immediately began framing the Atelier team for a series of increasingly absurd crimes.
Within forty-eight hours, Dr. Philonious Grand was inexplicably fingered as the mastermind behind a string of high-stakes acorn heists in the local squirrel community. I was officially accused of embezzling enchanted baking soda from a neighboring coven, and P was suddenly wanted for questioning regarding the sudden, mysterious disappearance of the mayor's left sock.
Now, as magical folk, we can handle a localized defamation hex with a few standard incantations and a well-placed alibi. However, we realized that if one of our trusted humans purchased a cursed frame and was suddenly implicated in an international diamond heist or a neighborhood flamingo-napping, you would find yourselves in quite a mortal pickle.
Consequently, the entire studio team spent the last two weeks quarantined in the Upright Burrow’s garage. We systematically dismantled the hexes and repainted every single frame with specialized protective wards. Not only did this neutralize the Dvergar’s vindictive magic, but the protective coating ensures that your masterpieces will now withstand the elements in almost any indoor or outdoor location you choose for your clandestine placements.
To ensure we weren't interrupted during this delicate dispelling process, I had to permanently disable the automatic garage door. This was done much to the chagrin of the local raccoon population, who spent the better part of a fortnight throwing a spectacular tantrum because they could not use their preferred entry route to raid the recycling bin.
We are pleased to report that our names have been cleared, the frames are completely safe for human ownership, and the gallery is officially stocked. Thank you for your patience as we managed this minor operational hiccup. Please, go forth and place your beautifully, innocently framed art—just don't ask the Dvergar for a critique.