Preserved Nature: Exploring Material Memory in my Artistic Practice

I often think about the moment a plant leaves its natural cycle. In the forest moss is always moving and changing, thickening with rain, drying in the sun, and slowly returning to the soil. Amaranth bends with the wind and eventually fades. Their entire existence is defined by change. But in the studio, that rhythm slows down. The material stays organic, but its story changes. It no longer grows, and it no longer decays. It exists in a beautiful kind of suspension.

This "in-between" state is where my work begins.

Material Memory

I call it Material Memory. I am fascinated by the way preserved plants hold onto the memory of being alive—the softness, the density, and those tiny irregularities shaped by their natural state. They are neither fully living nor completely still, and that ambiguity is what makes them so fascinating. They ask you to slow down and really look.

Working with moss is a slow, repetitive process. I handle each piece individually, noticing the variations in tone and texture that were shaped by the environment it came from. As I assemble these pieces, the surface starts to transform. It stops being just "moss" and begins to look like an organic composition with life of its own, a new natural environment to get lost in.

One thing that made me fall in love with preserved moss and plants is how these materials change a room. Organic matter absorbs light in a way that synthetic materials simply can’t. It holds a certain depth and softens the hard lines of our modern spaces. It brings a memory of the outdoors inside, but held in stillness—safe from the weather and the passing seasons.

Living with these pieces creates a unique atmosphere in a room. They offer all the things we love about the natural world—the vibrant colors, the intricate textures, the wild, irregular shapes—but without the constant cycle of growth and loss. While the material is no longer changing, it never feels truly static. You can still see the life that was once there.

I think of this as a kind of "living stillness." By holding a piece of nature in this suspended state, we are allowed to look at it more slowly, more deeply. In my work, I am searching for that perfect point where the organic meets the enduring—where a plant becomes a sculpture, without ever losing the memory of where it came from.

Preserved Nature: where the magic happens

Even though preservation is a high tech process handled by dedicated professionals, for me, preserved natural elements keep a deep fascination and a sort of magical effect. I feel like I'm giving them a new life in sculptural form, while they still carry the memory of their former life. When you look at these pieces, there is a realization that what you are looking at, once belonged to a living element.

In the studio, I work in harmony with my materials, I don't "force" these natural elements into a place, I observe them and then I guide them in the composition, exacly where their natural shape, texture and color suits best, where it's meant to be. It's a slow process, made of instict and sensory stimuli, and that's exactly what I love the most of my practice. The art happens in that transition—where nature becomes form.

If you want to experience the magic of Material Memory in your on space, contact me for a bespoke commission.