I once told my sister that I wanted to decorate my Paris apartment with something distinctly un-Parisian, just to spite my neighbors who insisted everything must be "authentique." That's how I ended up with a massive ceramic flower on my wall - the kind of thing you'd expect to find in a Florida retiree's bathroom, except this one had an undeniable elegance to it. The ceramic art piece, which I've named "Bernadette" (because all good wall decorations deserve proper names), spreads across my wall like some sort of pearl-colored sea creature that lost its way and decided to make a permanent home above my writing desk. It's abstract artwork in the way that makes visitors tilt their heads and say things like, "Is it a coral? Or maybe sea lettuce?" to which I always respond, "It's whatever you've had too much wine to think it is." As wall art decor goes, Bernadette has become something of a conversation starter, particularly among my French guests who can't quite categorize it within their rigid decorating taxonomy. "C'est... interesting," they say, in that particularly Parisian way that suggests both confusion and reluctant admiration. I've grown to love how it catches the afternoon light, casting shadows that make my apartment look like an underwater cave for precisely forty-three minutes each day.