Grey Green Monch Aster

When my sister called to ask what to hang above a couch in her new apartment, I suggested what any reasonable person would: a tasteful print of dogs playing poker. She responded by sending me a link to what looked like something Claude Monet would have created if he’d quit waterlilies and decided to work exclusively in ceramics while going through a Miami Beach phase.

“It’s wall art,” she insisted, as if capitalizing the words somehow justified the price tag. The ceramic flower in question wasn’t just large – it was the kind of large that makes you wonder if it was secretly being used to communicate with marine life. Its grey green petals stretched outward like frozen waves caught mid-crash, each one tipped with outlines that made it look like it had been pulled straight from a comic book about underwater adventures.

As far as wall decor goes, it had all the subtlety of a pool party in December. But she was convinced it would “make a statement.” The statement, as far as I could tell, was “I enjoy living inside what appears to be the love child of Art Deco and The Little Mermaid.” She bought it anyway. Now when I visit, I find myself staring at it, waiting for it to either start speaking in speech bubbles or flood her living room. Sometimes, I swear it’s doing both.