What had started as a dynamic propagation of a monstera vine had withered in nothing more than a dead leaf and a tuft of dried roots in a cup of plastic dirt sitting on my bedside table. I had looked at his gradual disappearance during the months while I was desperately trying to restart it with water, fertilizer and in a last effort, my own voice. But the moment had finally come to make me accept the truth that my lifeless cut had disappeared for good. It was time to say goodbye and move on.
With my plastic container of plant remains in hand, I entered the Chinese soup of the Lower East Side Gallery at the end of Saturday afternoon, April 19, for my first “Plant funeral,“Where I was greeted with cheeky Reports who said “Welcome to the plant killers!” And the smell of funeral incense mixed with dirt. Inside the non -profit space of the narrow arts, I joined a crowd teeming with ratatious leaves, monthin roots and dart rods.
Hold on the weekend before the day of the earth, the event was entitled “Root in Peace”, and its organizer, Dohyun Lee, told me that it was aimed at creating a common space so that the owners of plants treat their sorrow. Artistic director of the creative advertising agency Orchard Creative, Lee said that he was inspired by the event after the death of his own snake factory, a species widely known to be little maintained.
“He was underrubbed, then he was over-arrosted, and the root rot occurred,” said Lee. (It reminded me when I lost my three -year aloe plant after a similar chain of errors.)
Along a wall on the right, the gray tombstones culminated in black planters arranged next to an illustration photoshopped with flourishing pots rising in clouds of celestial cumulus. On the left, dozens of paper portraits of former plant owners with their empty pots surrounded a white pedestal where the ground has spread with a straight mulou.
Like serious markers, the photos were each subtitled with magnetic apology and details on the unfortunate destinies that had trapped the life of plants, now dead and went like my Swiss cheese vine.
“She dreamed of jam, shortcake and summer salads, but fate (and bad drainage) had other plans,” read a tombstone who showed a solemn face holding a green pan decorated with a smiling face.
“Root rot of the soul …” Read the description under another portrait of a smiling and apparently relieved couple, proudly holding a pot with a decomposing sheet.
A different photo of a painful couple holding something with a twist, he simply read “I'm sorry” next to an arrow pointing towards the culprit, labeled with overwhelming: “She did that.”
I admit, seeing the wall of mourning people and their beloved victims made me feel much less alone in my guilt. And as I took my last photo with my plant, I was comforted knowing that his memory would join dozens of others in a mass celebration of their lives.
This comfort has also resonated with other participants in the funeral of the plant. Bianca Canniero, who brought a rosemary factory that suffered an abyssal end when she was left outside on her balcony during the winter. The plant was the first she had ever lost, and she had left her “completely depressed”.
“I am looking to just get a closure on this process and maybe by closing, I can develop rosemary in the future,” said Caniero.
Another participant, Samm Cohen, who brought three dead plants, told me that as a passionate gardener, she has lost many plants over the years and used to keep their remains long after their departure. The event had motivated him to finally let them go and make room for a new life.
“I thought: 'Oh, it's a cute idea and I couldn't feel so guilty because I give them at least a good shipment and I respect their lives,” said Cohen.
Lee even had a healthcare professional on site, Richard Pham, founder of the Brooklyn business factory, Daddy MD, to assess each individual case. In the case of my bad spread, I learned that the ground shock was probably what had caused its end. But I also learned that even professional plant guards find it difficult to keep them booming.
“I killed my just part of plants, I'm not going to lie,” said Pham. “The only way you could really understand a plant is when you see it through his life, but also his death.”
A good feelingI said to myself, when he ceremoniously poured the remains of my plant that cut into a compost tray. Leaving the door, I took a small tombstone made up of worries seeds to plant in a new pot that will take place (hope) better.
