Decades ago, when I was a newlywed, it was popular to have hanging houseplants.
The concept has charms. In our circle of friends, the apartments were small and often older buildings. Furniture was minimal to match our paychecks. But if you had a nice window it was common to find a spider plant, wandering Jew, or other tropical foliage draping over the sides of a plastic or clay pot. During a macrame craze the holders became works of folk art with beads incorporated into elaborate string designs. (Not at my house. I need to concentrate when tying my shoes.)
One plant more than all the others seemed designed to be admired when hung. Imagine this thriving specimen hung in a foyer with a cathedral ceiling.