‘Greenhouses are not that different from galleries and museums,’ says Abbas Akhavan, the Tehran-born artist representing Canada at this year’s Venice Biennale. ‘These are spaces that hold precious goods. Sadly, galleries are often a lot more inert! But I still view them as mechanisms of sustenance and nourishment.’
This sentiment was a driving principle behind his creation for the Canadian Pavilion, a glass-topped ‘bundt cake’, in the words of the artist, which is built around a mature tree and opens up like a spiral nautilus shell. ‘The tree was certainly a catalyst for how I approached the project,’ says Akhavan, who prefers to work site-specifically.
.jpg)
It was not long before he settled on the idea of building a hothouse filled with giant Amazonian water lilies, and then began meticulous research with the aid of Kew Gardens in London and the Orto Botanico di Padova (the world’s oldest academic botanical garden). He spent time among the archives, enveloping himself in specimen studies and scientific illustrations, including the work of celebrated illustrator Lucy T. Smith. He then went about gaining permission to cultivate these plans on site.
‘Kew Gardens sent the selected seeds to Padova, and then they germinated them for us,’ explains Akhavan. ‘They arrived here once they reached a certain level of maturity. It was quite an emotional experience. When one of the plants died, our botanist was brought to tears.’
The emotive energy of the installation is met with an almost science-fiction edge. On entering through a sealed door, the high humidity of the space hits with full force. The gentle hiss of a series of misters (essential to maintain optimum growing conditions) could easily be mistaken for instruments of a more intergalactic variety.
Magenta grow lights, meanwhile, are the only thing that illuminate the lilies. These leaves unfurl as waxy pads with distinct, ridged edges, which appear floating in a pitch-black pool. ‘The water is filled with a natural vegetable dye, to prevent algae growth,’ the artist explains. ‘This is in line with Kew’s protocols, but it has a wonderful aesthetic quality too – it reflects everything.’
During my visit, the leaves are still fairly diminutive, but they will eventually reach up to 1.5 meters in width. Producing a work that is by nature durational, predicted to reach its full form only at the end of the biennale in autumn, is an unusually bold move considering the onslaught of expectant visitors in the opening month.
For Akhavan, this approach ties into his wider practice, which considers expanses of time that stretch back through antiquity and even far beyond the span of human existence. For example, these plants’ accepted names – identified as the ‘Victoria’ giant waterlilies, after the British monarch – only represent a century-and-a-half in the 100-million-year story of these ancient nymphaeaceae, native to the Amazon river basin across Colombia, Brazil, Bolivia, Peru and Guyana.
‘I’m not interested in saying: “Guess what everybody, this is about colonialism”, because we already know that. Kew and Padova trace that history, and it is just one of the layers of aggregate,’ the artist explains. ‘I have been discussing with the horticulturists about how these lilies demonstrate an intersection between power, curiosity, empire, propaganda, science and technology.’
He notes that the Venice Biennale is ultimately a world fair, and the Victoria water lilies were initially revealed at the first of these: the 1851 Great Exhibition at London’s Crystal Palace. In fact, the lilies’ distinct quilted leaf patterns are said to have inspired the design for this grand glass building, after a specimen was sent to architect Joseph Paxton.
For Akhavan, this history marks something of a cyclical moment, particularly as Kew’s lily house is currently closed for restoration. ‘I think of my hot house as something of a proxy,’ he explains, having also referred to Wardian cases, a kind of specialised container that served as transportable precursors to the modern-day terrarium, permitting exotic botanical specimens to be kept alive over long sea voyages.
In many ways, the artist has created his own contemporary encasement. The aesthetic treatment is a far cry from the more elaborate setting of Kew and Padova, yet it still holds the inherent fascination one often feels when examining such ancient plant life. To enter is to convene with something prehistoric yet nascent – and which will continue to grow with each passing day.
‘Abbas Akhavan: Entre chien et loup’ runs at the 61st Venice Biennale until 22 November 2025. For more information, visit gallery.ca
