Beveridge, who was born in Hong Kong and is now based in London, has long been drawn to the way bodies and objects are framed, presented and read. Her sculptures often carry the atmosphere of a shop window or salon interior, but they never settle there. Instead, they seem to sit somewhere between intimacy and artifice, beauty and pressure, as though the materials themselves are holding onto memory.

“My practice hovers somewhere between cosmic accident and calculated intervention,” she says. “I tend to circle around the body, time, memory, and how these are encoded in materials, and whatever it is that makes something feel familiar and strange at the same time.” That balance appears key to her work. There is always control, but never too much. The pieces feel composed but still very much open to chance.

Hong Kong remains an important reference point. Beveridge describes growing up surrounded by glass, steel and display structures pushed to their limits, a visual language of excess that has stayed with her. You can feel that in the work: the hard surfaces, sense of tension and glamour that edges into something more uncomfortable.

Glass, especially, has become central to her practice, though she talks about it less as a medium to master than one to work alongside. “I’ve worked with blown glass for years and I’ve learned that I’m never really in control,” she says. “I can plan rigorously but during the process, the material can sometimes morph and evolve into something that has its own life, its own metabolism.” That lack of certainty is part of what gives the work its energy. Nothing feels fixed for long.

Beveridge’s Champion is Kate Sutton, who first encountered her work properly in Live Dead World, the artist’s 2018 solo exhibition at Seventeen in London. What stayed with her was the way Beveridge brought softness and vulnerability into the cool grammar of consumer display. Modular store shelving, chrome fittings and beauty imagery were offset by hand-blown glass forms that felt bodily, delicate and faintly melancholic. Sutton saw an artist finding a way to speak about flatness, surface and commodity culture without losing sensuality or intelligence in the process. Sutton told the Wick: