When people ask about the wall art decor in my living room, I tell them it's modern artwork, which feels like less of a lie than admitting I bought it during a 3 AM Instagram shopping binge. The ceramic flower – a yellow thing no bigger than my palm – stares back at me from its perch above the sofa, looking suspiciously like a ranunculus that's been interpreted by someone whose only exposure to flowers was through a View-Master reel."Wall art for living room," I had typed desperately into my phone that night, as if the caps lock would somehow manifest better taste. The algorithm, in its infinite wisdom, served me this wall-mounted piece that came with something called a keyhole mount, which sounds more like a locksmith's nightmare than a means of hanging decorations.My boyfriend Hugh says it looks like something you'd find in a pediatric dentist's office, the kind of place that still uses the word "groovy" without irony. But I've grown oddly protective of my ceramic bloom, this yellow sentinel that watches over our arguments about whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher. Sometimes, late at night, I swear it winks at me – though that might just be the wine.