i see a lot of art filled with plants, like, in the american art scene there seems to be a kind of general movement towards and appreciation of ruined structures being overtaken by nature. offices full of dead computers and leaves. walls with ivy. old factories crawling with new growth. a symbol of degrowth, of new futures that devour and reject colonial modernism, of a refutation of the tyranny over land. it's a nice sentiment.
but consistently im noticing something odd, which is that over and over the plants depicted in art are very familiar -- they're houseplants. pothos. monstera. calathea. zamioculcas. plants growing in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong climate, a mishmash of unrelated folks with far-flung origins symbolizing "natural" retaking of the modern world.
plants, specifically, that are directly tied to the legacy of colonialism. from northern africa. from southern america. from india. plants that were collected as curios during periods of direct imperialism. plants kept as trophies, plants sold at high prices. plants that are "exotic". that are beautiful. that are high-value. plants whose people got no payment for their capture.
they're the plants people in american colonial territory, who lack access to native plant community, see most often -- that is, other than "weeds". and so when these artists reach for the pure idea of plant, the concept of nature, these plants are their only blueprint. dragging with them all of the baggage of hundreds of years of empire.
it's incredible how much this changes the messaging of the image. dreams of ecological participation stained with a creeping theme of alienation from their native biosphere. the thumbprint of colonialism, clear as day. a hopeful vision of the future, kneecapped by its own symbology. hundreds of individual artists so alienated from their own ecosystems that even their fantasy of participation with nature is inextricable from colonialist trophies. trying to imagine reclaiming the world.
