Last winter, I stood before a panel of carnations in the quiet north gallery and counted the decisions inside a single stem. The red was not merely red; it sat raised above the white glaze, edged in black, then answered by cobalt leaves that seemed to move without ever becoming loose.
Precision gives ornament its pulse
At the worktable, our first instinct was to soften every boundary. The old tiles argued otherwise. Their pleasure comes from restraint: a limited palette, a repeated curve, and enough contrast for each leaf to hold its place. Richness, it turns out, is often a matter of refusing one more flourish.