When my sister asked me what to hang on a kitchen wall, I briefly considered suggesting a framed poster of our family's most spectacular cooking disasters. But then I remembered I was trying to be helpful, not passive-aggressive, so I pitched her the idea of a ceramic wall flower instead. "It's modern artwork," I explained, as if I hadn't just learned the term from a late-night YouTube rabbit hole. "Very chic wall art decor." The flower in question was a small, rust-colored number that looked like it had been fished out of the Titanic's wreckage and given a new lease on life. Its petals resembled mussels from the sea, as if Poseidon himself had decided to try his hand at pottery while drunk on ambrosia.