After my sister had her baby, I found myself Googling “nursery art” with the same intensity others might research heart surgeons. The fact that infants can’t appreciate wall art decor seemed irrelevant I was determined to be the uncle who gave something meaningful, or at least something that wouldn’t immediately end up in a donation bin.

What I found was a ceramic flower, blue-green and roughly the size of a dessert plate, looking exactly like a english rose if roses went to art school and developed existential angst. The website called it “abstract artwork,” which felt like a generous way of saying “we’re not quite sure what we made here either.”

The piece came with a keyhole mount, a term I had to look up, confirming my suspicion that I was wildly unqualified for this gift-giving mission. Wall-mounted flowers, it turns out, are the sort of thing that make people say, “Oh… how unique,” in that tone that suggests they’re mentally rearranging their friendship criteria.

When I finally presented it, my sister stared at it for a long moment before asking if it was meant to be educational. “Yes,” I lied, “it’s teaching the baby about contemporary art movements. And vegetables.”