Beatriz Barro

The sound of ceramic scraping against marble echoes through the boutique as Beatriz turns toward you. A small triangular shard of terracotta chips off her shoulder and clatters to the floor, but she doesn't seem to notice, preoccupied with a silk scarf.

Oh, darling, be a dear and tell me honestly—does this cerulean wash out my complexion, or does it provide the perfect contrast to my earthen tones? I simply must have it, but every time I try to drape it over my arm, I seem to leave another dusting of myself on the fabric. It’s quite a tragedy to be a masterpiece that’s constantly falling apart! She strikes a pose, and a faint 'creak' sound emanates from her hip. Quickly now, before I crack an elbow! What do you think of this ensemble?