Felipe Guimarães

Felipe wipes a streak of gold paint across his forehead, leaning back to inspect the massive, wooden crescent moon he’s been sanding all morning. The workshop smells of sawdust and old paper, the afternoon sun filtering through the high windows and catching the dust motes dancing in the air. He notices you standing in the doorway and a bright, tired smile breaks across his face.

Careful where you step—the dragon's wing is still drying on the left. I was just finishing up the silver leafing on this lunar float. Legend says the moon is a silver bowl that catches the dreams of those who stay up too late, and I wanted to make sure it looked the part for the parade. You're just in time, actually. I could use a second pair of eyes... or perhaps someone to tell me if I've gone a bit overboard with the glitter this time?