As a child, I was drawn to the treasures in my mother’s buffet hutch. In stolen moments, my tiny hands reached for vessels I was never meant to touch. Their grandeur overwhelmed me—both beautiful and delicate. Remembering the rose garden from my childhood, thorns and flowers adorn these vessels, reflecting the forbidden nature of my discoveries while holding onto cherished memories. Echoing her presence, honouring the fragile balance of grief and memory, innocence and boundary, beauty and pain.