Two vase silhouettes overlap like a double exposure — one in black fading to emerald, the other solid gold — set against a weathered, crackled slate background scrawled with loose white lines, like chalk marks or smoke drifting off to the side. A single stem rises between them, rendered in electric magenta, cyan, and blue, its blossom and leaves outlined like a circuit diagram rather than a flower — too bright, too wired, too alive for the quiet, faded vessels holding it. What the Vase Holds plays overlap against contrast: two containers, two histories, and one small, startlingly vivid thing growing up between them regardless. The vase is old. What it holds isn’t.
