Objects turn into things, asserting their aesthetic dominance within our homes. Tired of being mistreated, piled up, moved around, and used inconsistently—recklessly even—they drift toward the margins. They abandon the center of the room, the middle of tables and coffee tables, breaking free from their banal identity as mere decorative items, retreating to the walls. From different heights, breathing better, and finally look at us: they amusedly observe our constant toil, our quarrels, loves, our fleeting and profound thoughts, and occasionally sigh. Leaning against the wall, they silently remind us that we will pass, while they will remain.