About the work

He’d been given the glass ornament by his sister for his fortieth birthday, the year he started bringing plants into the office, the year he thought he was going to die. He’d read somewhere that plants clean the air. He was pretty sure his sister hadn’t made the ornament herself, but also that she’d chosen it specifically for him, for some meaning he hadn’t quite deciphered yet, beyond its fragility. He keeps it on the window ledge, near the Monstera, which is thriving, inexplicably, in the stale office air. He can’t quite shake the feeling that one day, he’ll come in to find the glass broken.