I found a ceramic flower that I’m convinced was made to either start a conversation or end one. It’s a medium-sized peony, teal in colour, the kind of hue that makes you wonder whether the artist was drunk on seawater or desperate for attention. The flower has a keyhole in the back, which means it’s meant to be wall mounted—it’s not just a flower for your table, no. It’s art. wall art decor, they call it, which, frankly, sounds like an overstatement, considering the thing looks like it’s trying to be abstract artwork but isn’t quite sure how to make it happen.
I’m not sure where it fits. Maybe in a nursery room, where, at least, you can convince yourself that a teal peony is "vibrant" and "whimsical," instead of simply out of place. You can imagine a baby staring up at it, contemplating the bizarre world of nursery room accessories, perhaps wondering why this flower is so large, so strangely unnatural, and why it’s the only thing hanging on the wall that doesn’t seem to belong in a place filled with soft pastels and calming designs.
But no matter where I hang it—above the couch, near the hallway—it’s always the same: a ceramic flower, looking a little too proud of itself, daring you to call it “art.”