Rosie's Story — Love Doesn't Disappear, It Changes Shape
This wasn't a replacement. It was a way to keep that gaze close.
This wasn't a replacement. It was a way to keep that gaze close.
After she was gone, what Grace missed most wasn't the noise—it was the look .
That steady, wide-eyed way she'd meet you in the room, like she was checking in.
Grace wanted something small enough to live in everyday life, but specific enough to feel true: the green eyes, the tabby markings, the calm attention that made home feel occupied.
We built the piece around her strongest “recognition anchors”:
We worked slowly, checking symmetry and proportions from multiple angles—because with a face this expressive, a tiny shift can change the whole feeling.
In the end, it wasn't about making something “perfect.”
It was about making something recognizable —the kind of piece you can pass by on a shelf and feel, for a second, like she's still looking up at you.
Quiet. Close. Still part of the room.