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This may sound familiar: as twilight seeps into the forest, faint sounds begin to stir along the path. Listen very closely — you might catch fragments of voices, murmuring, disputing, conspiring — and you would be wise not to believe all that they say.
Copper Head Conference emerged somewhere between wandering through the woods, reading The Mushroom at the End of the World, and watching The Truffle Hunters. It is part kinetic sculpture, part musical instrument — a trickster in miniature, poised upon your desk, ready to dispense praise or playful critique at its own discretion.
Beware, this tiny landscape can be chatty. And it awakens at the lightest invitation: the tap of the mallet, the snap of your fingers, a passing breath of wind — or, better still, the unplanned arrival of a black cat or a blue caterpillar.
