In some of these brains, we, quite brutally, punched holes that could hold succulents. There was a dissected brain, a tiny cave, where plants could grow from. And then there was simply half a brain, with its small cracks and caverns, perfect for a beautiful furry coat of moss. 

 

This last model was our biggest challenge. We became moss-obsessed, studying the non-vascular flowerless plant extensively. We immersed ourselves in a world of moss, trying to understand it. Finding it, growing it, nurturing it. We experimented with yogurt, beer and moss mixes. We learned so much about the perfect conditions that make (most) mosses happy. Think moist, shade, humidity and most importantly… time.

 

Concrete - symbiosis started with us questioning the concept of structured nature, the city and its manufacturability. So in the end it seemed only natural to leave some of those concrete brains alone for a while. To let go of everything time pressure related. Why force the process? Especially with an organic component involved. It’s perfectly human to want things right here, right now. But nature knows best when, how and why it would develop at its own pace. 

 

I positioned a couple of them in a quiet, shady place outside, a resting garden so to say. Seasons changed, lots of rain poured over them. They had encounters with nosy neighbors like cats, dogs, birds, insects and frogs. But… Almost no human interference at all. No yogurt and beer goo, no pressure. Just a patient concrete structure in its desired natural habitat. 

 

I never forgot about those concrete brains, but at times I didn’t think about them for quite a while. Meanwhile I lived my life. Just like you don’t sit around watching paint dry, you don’t stare at concrete structures until moss starts sprouting from the cracks… I worked on other projects, some taking almost no time, others lasting for years. And then, one day, there it was… The start of that little green fur coat. I smiled, my heart jumped, and I realized: all good things take their natural time.