Bottles and vases crowded together like old friends at a table, overlapping in terracotta, pink, ochre, olive, and burgundy on warm butter cream. Each shape bleeds into the next with the translucent honesty of a Morandi who moved somewhere warmer and started using colour without apology. A round form leans against a tall neck, a small sphere sits at the feet of something larger, and the whole arrangement has the quiet confidence of objects that know they look good together.
