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 Georgia O'Keeffe would have created if she'd gone through a purple phase and decided to work exclusively in ceramics. "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 meant to be viewed from space. Its lilac petals stretched outward like the arms of an octopus trying to embrace the entire room, each one glazed to a shine that threatened to blind unsuspecting visitors. As far as wall art decor goes, it had all the subtlety of Liberace's wardrobe. 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 a giant purple sea anemone." She bought it anyway. Now when I visit, I find myself staring at it, waiting for it to either bloom or devour her sofa. Sometimes, I swear it's doing both.