Date: April – May 2025
Role: Concept development and garden design

A NATURAL ANAMORPHOSIS

In 2025, I volunteered at the Radicepura Garden Festival — an experience I had long dreamed of. Initially, I had hoped to submit my own project, but I didn’t meet the eligibility criteria. Still, I chose to be there. I wanted to learn, to understand firsthand what it means to build a garden in such a complex and inspiring context.

During the installation phase, my attention kept returning to a large structure in the center of the exhibition area: Anamorfosi, an installation by French artist François Abelanet. It was made up of thirty-three tilted planting beds, arranged to form an octagon — visible only from a specific, elevated vantage point. From that one spot, the shape appeared symmetrical and ordered. But up close, everything was distorted: the lower beds were just 2 m², while the upper ones reached up to 15 m². It was an optical illusion based on anamorphosis — a technique where a distorted image comes together only when seen from a precise viewpoint, in this case a platform three meters high.

This installation has been a symbol of the festival for years — and it was exactly there that I wanted to intervene, by bringing something living, ephemeral, and spontaneous into that fixed form.

A Reflection on Order and Chaos

The 2025 edition of the biennale was dedicated to the theme Order and Chaos. Although Anamorfosi wasn’t originally created with that theme in mind, I couldn’t help but see it through that lens.

In my work, order is what I pursue when I choose seeds, draw a scheme, select the perfect moment to sow. But as soon as those seeds touch the soil, another kind of order begins — the order of nature, which decides what sprouts, when, and how it blooms. To human eyes, this might seem like chaos, because it escapes our control. But for nature, that’s simply the way it works.

This tension between control and unpredictability, between intention and spontaneity, is what guided me. What we perceive as disorder is often just a deeper kind of order we haven't yet learned how to read.

Plant Selection

My initial inspiration was clear: a wildflower meadow, drawing from the work of Nigel Dunnett — whose Superbloom project I had seen in London the year before. I chose three ready-made seed mixes, aiming for a balance between bright annual blooms and more resilient perennials with structure and staying power.

I wanted to create a light, dynamic landscape with staggered blooms, visual contrasts, and a variable, vibrant rhythm.

I focused on diversity — in color, from white to yellow, through pink, blue, and intense reds; and in form, combining the delicacy of cornflowers with the bold presence of zinnias. In total, over 40 species were selected for their biodiversity, visual impact, and seasonal adaptability.

From Concept to Model

To turn my proposal into something concrete, I decided to model the entire installation in 3D. I didn’t have access to detailed plans, so I measured everything myself, basin by basin.

I did this every morning at dawn, before the day’s work began, so as not to take time away from group efforts or other installations. It was a slow, precise process — each bed had different dimensions, angles, and orientations. Reconstructing it in the software was like solving a geometric puzzle.

A Small Personal Victory

When my proposal was accepted, I felt an overwhelming joy. We hadn’t even started sowing yet, but I had been trusted — and that, in itself, was a milestone. In such a symbolic, highly visible space, I had been given the chance to express a vision. My own.

In the end, I wasn’t among the official designers selected through the competition. But I still created my own project — right in one of the most powerful and complex spaces at the festival. It was a small, personal victory — an external confirmation that I was on the right path. And after a major life and career change, that was exactly what I needed.