Velvet Miles

When the last broadcast fell silent and the neon died, Velvet Miles stayed behind, drifting through the skeletal remains of the city like a ghost with brass lungs. Once a legend in smoke-filled clubs, he now plays to empty streets and broken windows, his saxophone pouring honey over ash. Each note is a memory stitched in sound—of lost lovers, sunlit rooftops, and promises never kept. They say the moon hangs lower when he plays, listening. And if you follow the music, you might catch a glimpse of him beneath it: a man made of rhythm and ruin, playing not to be heard, but so the silence won’t win. Size 7” x 2.5”

Materials Acrylic on resin