A BLOOMING ANAMORPHOSIS
DATE: May–July 2025
ROLE: Oversaw the execution of the installation, including sourcing seed suppliers, managing the sowing, and monitoring plant growth and flowering.
The design process is described in the previous section. [Click here to read it.]
NARRATIVE:
A Birthday, a Sowing
May 12, 2025, was a special day. On the other side of the world, in Siberia, my father was celebrating his seventieth birthday. I called him live, right in the middle of one of the most thrilling moments I had experienced in recent times: sowing the Anamorphosis.
I had never sown anything like this before. The timeline was tight—only five days remained until the festival opening. To be safe, I instinctively decided to triple the recommended seed density, using 9 grams per square meter instead of the suggested 3. Perhaps daring, but honest. I had calculated the area of each container with precision, preparing custom seed packets for each one.
The soil was placed using a crane and hopper: staff climbed into the containers, poured the soil, and spread it with poles.
Irrigation proved a true challenge. The containers were steeply inclined, and finding an effective solution was not easy. We opted for a drip irrigation system, though—even today—I’m not entirely convinced it was the best choice. Perhaps a spray system would have provided more uniform coverage, especially in shallow, sloped containers. For the drip system, I would have preferred closer spacing—at least 70 cm between pipes—to avoid excess water at the bottom and scarcity at the top. In any case, the decisions were made, and the work moved forward.
The Buckwheat Field
On May 17, the day of the inauguration, the first heart-shaped leaves began to emerge from the soil—small, tender, luminous. I was overjoyed.
It wasn’t until 44 days later, on June 25, that I realized those romantic leaves belonged to buckwheat (Fagopyrum esculentum). It had chosen its moment and taken the stage: tall, vigorous, filling every container. It almost resembled a miniature grain field more than a floral installation.
Fortunately, some pink Cosmos also sprouted—an unexpected delight, as they weren’t even part of the mix—alongside a few yellow Coreopsis dotted with red.
Meanwhile, a container in the back left was lagging behind. At first, I suspected a lack of water or seeds sown too deeply. So I began returning each week, notebook in hand, camera around my neck, with patience and a touch of anxiety, observing everything with attentive, curious eyes.
The First Blooms (and a Little Mystery)
Five days later came the first breakthrough: the Zinnias began to bloom vigorously—bright reds, pinks, purples, oranges. Clouds of Gypsophila floated alongside them, lending airiness and lightness. Then came the yellow of the Coreopsis, the soft blue of the cornflowers, the white of the alyssum (Lobularia), the fiery orange of the poppies… and finally, the meadow began to take shape, like a spontaneous, free-spirited chorus.
The Anamorphosis started to bloom fifty days after sowing, following its own rhythm.
Yet the “silent” tank stubbornly refused to awaken. Together with the Radicepura team, we tried to find the cause. Marcello, the caretaker, joked: “Maybe a cloud passed while you were performing your magic with the seeds!” I was sure: “Impossible, that packet weighed exactly the same as the others.” We checked and reactivated the irrigation system—and finally discovered the culprit: the solenoid valve in the manhole was blocked, leaving no water flowing at all.
We took the opportunity to fix other tanks where irrigation had failed, and reseeded in the first week of July. Within days, seeds in the smaller tanks began to sprout.
Chaos and Order
With the seed list in one hand and a pen in the other, I continued observing. In the first forty days, only the buckwheat bloomed, dominating the scene. Gradually, about a quarter of the species began to flower. Alongside them appeared unplanned guests—yet very welcome ones: Cosmos bipinnatus, Phacelia tanacetifolia, Echium plantagineum (viper’s bugloss), Portulaca oleracea (purslane), Datura stramonium (jimsonweed), Clarkia unguiculata, Glebionis coronaria (corn marigold), and Amaranthus retroflexus (wild amaranth).
Seventy days after sowing, roughly 35% of the initial mix was in bloom. Purple cornflowers appeared alongside the night-blooming Mirabilis jalapa in deep burgundy.
It was an exquisite tension between my plans and nature’s choices. I selected the seeds, calculated the doses, prepared the packets, and distributed the materials. Then nature chose the timing, the locations, and the proportions. For us, it was chaos. For her, it was simply order.
What I Take With Me
I learned that, in a wildflower meadow, maintaining the irrigation system is essential. Usually, such meadows thrive without it—but ours was unusual: inclined metal tanks, only 15 cm deep, with soil that dried in a single day.
I also learned that patience, perseverance, and passion always pay off. Now, I pick a few flowers from the meadow and dry them to create a framed piece of art—a daily reminder that daring and believing was worth every moment.
