Date: May 2025 – ongoing
Activity: Supervision and observation
A BLOOMING ANAMORPHOSIS
A birthday, a sowing
May 12, 2025, was a special day. On the other side of the world, in Siberia, my father was turning 70. I called him live, right in the middle of one of the most emotional moments I’ve had recently: sowing the Anamorphosis.
I had never done a sowing like this before. And the timing was extremely tight: only five days remained until the festival opening. For safety, I decided to triple the recommended density, raising it to 9 grams per square meter instead of the planned 3. It was an instinctive, perhaps daring, but sincere choice. I had calculated the area of each tank precisely, so I had prepared personalized seed packets for each one.
The soil was laid using a crane and hopper: staff climbed into the tanks, unloaded the soil, and spread it using poles.
Irrigation was a real challenge. The tanks had a significant slope, and finding an effective solution was not easy. We opted for a drip system, although—even today—I am not entirely convinced it was the best choice. Perhaps a spray system would have ensured more uniform coverage, especially in the inclined and shallow tanks. For the drip system, I would have preferred closer spacing—at least 70 cm between tubes—to avoid excess water at the bottom and scarcity at the top. In any case, the choices were made.
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 over the moon.
Only after 44 days, on June 25, did I realize that those romantic leaves belonged to buckwheat (Fagopyrum esculentum). It had decided that this was its moment and had taken the stage: tall, vigorous, present in every tank. It almost looked like a small field of grain rather than a floral installation.
Fortunately, some pink Cosmos also sprouted—surprising, as they were not even included in the mix—and a few yellow Coreopsis with red spots.
Meanwhile, a tank in the back left was lagging behind. At first, I thought it was a lack of water or seeds sown too deeply. So I began returning every week, notebook in hand, camera around my neck, with patience and some apprehension, observing everything with curious eyes.
The first blooms (and a little mystery)
Five days later, the first breakthrough: the Zinnias began to bloom vigorously. Bright colors—reds, pinks, purples, oranges. Alongside them came the little clouds of Gypsophila, bringing lightness and airiness. Then the yellow of the Coreopsis, the soft blue of the cornflowers, the white of the alyssum (Lobularia), the orange poppies… finally, the meadow began to take shape, like a spontaneous, free-spirited chorus.
The anamorphosis started to bloom fifty days after sowing, on its own schedule.
But the “silent” tank still wasn’t taking off. Together with the Radicepura team, we tried to figure out the reason. Marcello, the caretaker, joked: “Maybe a cloud passed while you were doing your magic with the seeds!” I was sure: “Impossible, that packet weighed the same as the others.” We tried to reactivate the irrigation system, and finally we found the culprit: the solenoid valve in the manhole was blocked, so no water was flowing at all.
We took the opportunity to fix other tanks where irrigation had failed, and reseeded in the first week of July. Within a few days, seeds in the smaller tanks began to sprout.
Chaos and order
With the seed mix list in one hand and a pen in the other, I continued to observe. In the first 40 days, only the buckwheat bloomed, dominating the scene. Then, gradually, about 25% of the species began to flower. Alongside them appeared unplanned guests—but very welcome ones: Cosmos bipinnatus, Phacelia tanacetifolia, Echium plantagineum (viper’s bugloss), Portulaca oleracea (purslane), Datura stramonium (jimsonweed), Clarkia unguiculata, Glebionis coronaria (corn marigold), Amaranthus retroflexus (wild amaranth).
Seventy days after sowing, we had reached about 35% flowering relative to the initial mix. Additionally, purple cornflowers and the night-blooming Mirabilis jalapa in deep burgundy appeared.
It was an extremely delicate balance between what I had planned and what nature had chosen. I selected seeds and doses, prepared packets, distributed materials. Then nature chose timing, locations, and proportions. For us, it is chaos. For her, it is simply natural order.
What I take with me
I learned that, in a wildflower meadow, maintaining the irrigation system is crucial. Usually, these meadows thrive without irrigation, but ours was an unusual case: inclined tanks, metal, only 15 cm deep, soil drying out 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 make a framed piece of art—to remind myself every time I return that it was worth daring and believing.
