At the centre of the Koffler Arts dozens of plants on black metal shelving are illuminated by green and purple light. Pulled in by the beautiful flowers, you head toward the installation. But then you stop in your tracks. Beside each plant is its botanical name and meaning, and each one has a dark past.
The plants’ names perpetuate societal prejudices against racial, cultural, gender, and social groups. The names for many viewers will prove shocking, as they read about “Wandering Jew,”“Jews mallow,” “Indian Chief,” “Gypsy Weed,” “Clitoria”—and those aren’t even the most offensive.
Brazilian artist Giselle Beiguelman takes us into the world of botany and nomenclature—a system of naming things in a particular field—and it’s troubling history in a colonialist framework. Her exhibit, Botannica Tirannica now on display at the Koffler Arts in Toronto until October 20, shows us how plant names have been warped and imbued with oppressive language, and how reclaiming certain species of flora can bring back their original intended purpose. In Canada, that means bringing back medicinal purposes for plants used by Indigenous communities and celebrating “weeds” a non-scientific term used to weaponize against unharmful or misunderstood plants.
Outside the gallery is the “Garden of Resilience” housing what are considered “invasive weeds” so that they grow together. Created in collaboration with Isaac Crosby, a Black and Ojibwa knowledge keeper, gardener and agriculture expert, the garden displays the plants’ problematic names, scientific names, and their original Indigenous names so that viewers can learn about their history and uses, to help revitalize Indigenous language and culture.
I sat down with Beiguelman to discuss the process of making this exhibit and what she hopes viewers will take away with them after visiting the gallery.
You were inspired to create this exhibition after receiving a gift of a Tradescantia zebrina seedling, commonly called “Wandering Jew,” a name referencing the 13th-century myth that recurred in Nazi propaganda. What were the first thoughts that entered your mind when you heard the name of the plant?
I was presented with a “Wandering Jew” from this man and didn’t know the popular name of this plant at the time, and I was totally in shock. I didn’t know the prejudice that was embedded in these (botanical) names. When I was on my way home, inside the Uber, I began searching up the plant on my cell phone and saw that it was true, the plant was called “Wandering Jew.” As soon as I got home I began searching antisemitism and scientific nomenclature (a system of naming things in a particular field) and it didn’t take me longer than 15 minutes to realize there was a broader problem. Those problematic names had been given to plants and were anti-Black, anti-Indigenous, anti-LGBTQ+, misogynistic, and prejudice against Romani people.
So was it after this discovery you delved right into the exhibit? I’m curious about the process of how you began to work on it.
First, during COVID-19, I was looking online at the plants themselves and knew the exhibition would be a garden, to put all those plants together in the same place. It would be beautiful but at the same time reflect the same prejudices that many [marginalized] groups have been experiencing for centuries. This was one of the main ideas I had from the beginning.
You also use artificial intelligence in video and images to create these reimagined hybrid plants by taking the datasets of these prejudicial plants. Out of it come these new plants breaking free of their oppressive names and histories. Was that also an idea from the beginning?
This came about when I was doing my first experimentation with artificial intelligence using generative AI and deep fakes. In the colonial process there is a splitting of nature and culture; that nature must be conquered by their [Western] culture. What if we do this by going beyond the scale of nature with awful, common and scientific names—a eugenic methodology to create a Western ideal. There are similarities in AI methodologies. So I wanted to bring together these datasets of these prejudicial plants but to then go beyond the patterns [in the algorithms] to create these new hybrid plants born out of a prejudiced mindset. There were so many possibilities that were born, the result was very good.
This exhibit was so educational for me, so many plant names have such hurtful and painful histories. So many were surprising, like the history of lavender being used in U.S. politics to describe the “perceived threat” of the LGBTQ+ community. Were there any stories that shocked you in particular?
The shock came for me at the start, when I first came to understand how awful the scientific names are. I have a published dataset of 200 plants and there are 50 antisemitic names. There are plant names that erase the culture and history of Indigenous people. The amount of names that touch on the genocide of Indigenous people or enslavement of Black people is shocking. Learning of the plant called “dumb cane,” which was used by plantation owners to torture enslaved people (as it makes the mouth swell when eaten), while they forced people to work in the worst possible conditions, was just horrible. There was so much, and each region has their own specific words targetting different groups. In Brazil, many plants target women and Black people. In Germany, it's Jews and Romani people.
This exhibit premiered at the Museu Judaico de São Paulo, Brazil in 2022 and has since traveled to Pakistan, Italy and now, Toronto. In each city, a garden is always curated. What was it like putting them together?
We are the project of colonialism and it is referenced in our daily lives by the language we use because it signifies our practices. So the idea of reparation, or giving back to the original populations, was an important way to reflect, and these small gardens do that in a small way.
The idea of a weed being a plant that wasn’t profitable or one that needed to be eradicated. It’s how many plants have been targeted. It’s not the main part of the exhibit but creates a strong statement for the exhibition as a whole.
What do you hope people take away from this exhibit?
We did the first mounting of the exhibit in 2022 and now we’re in 2024, the exhibit has never stopped and has travelled to all these different places. I want people to understand that prejudice never targets just one group. Prejudice comes in many forms and if people think the naming of these plants isn’t a problem, it is a problem. The identification cards for the plants aren’t just meant to inform you but shock you.
This interview has edited for clarity and length.
At the centre of the Koffler Arts dozens of plants on black metal shelving are illuminated by green and purple light. Pulled in by the beautiful flowers, you head toward the installation. But then you stop in your tracks. Beside each plant is its botanical name and meaning, and each one has a dark past.
The plants’ names perpetuate societal prejudices against racial, cultural, gender, and social groups. The names for many viewers will prove shocking, as they read about “Wandering Jew,”“Jews mallow,” “Indian Chief,” “Gypsy Weed,” “Clitoria”—and those aren’t even the most offensive.
Brazilian artist Giselle Beiguelman takes us into the world of botany and nomenclature—a system of naming things in a particular field—and it’s troubling history in a colonialist framework. Her exhibit, Botannica Tirannica now on display at the Koffler Arts in Toronto until October 20, shows us how plant names have been warped and imbued with oppressive language, and how reclaiming certain species of flora can bring back their original intended purpose. In Canada, that means bringing back medicinal purposes for plants used by Indigenous communities and celebrating “weeds” a non-scientific term used to weaponize against unharmful or misunderstood plants.
Outside the gallery is the “Garden of Resilience” housing what are considered “invasive weeds” so that they grow together. Created in collaboration with Isaac Crosby, a Black and Ojibwa knowledge keeper, gardener and agriculture expert, the garden displays the plants’ problematic names, scientific names, and their original Indigenous names so that viewers can learn about their history and uses, to help revitalize Indigenous language and culture.
I sat down with Beiguelman to discuss the process of making this exhibit and what she hopes viewers will take away with them after visiting the gallery.
You were inspired to create this exhibition after receiving a gift of a Tradescantia zebrina seedling, commonly called “Wandering Jew,” a name referencing the 13th-century myth that recurred in Nazi propaganda. What were the first thoughts that entered your mind when you heard the name of the plant?
I was presented with a “Wandering Jew” from this man and didn’t know the popular name of this plant at the time, and I was totally in shock. I didn’t know the prejudice that was embedded in these (botanical) names. When I was on my way home, inside the Uber, I began searching up the plant on my cell phone and saw that it was true, the plant was called “Wandering Jew.” As soon as I got home I began searching antisemitism and scientific nomenclature (a system of naming things in a particular field) and it didn’t take me longer than 15 minutes to realize there was a broader problem. Those problematic names had been given to plants and were anti-Black, anti-Indigenous, anti-LGBTQ+, misogynistic, and prejudice against Romani people.
So was it after this discovery you delved right into the exhibit? I’m curious about the process of how you began to work on it.
First, during COVID-19, I was looking online at the plants themselves and knew the exhibition would be a garden, to put all those plants together in the same place. It would be beautiful but at the same time reflect the same prejudices that many [marginalized] groups have been experiencing for centuries. This was one of the main ideas I had from the beginning.
You also use artificial intelligence in video and images to create these reimagined hybrid plants by taking the datasets of these prejudicial plants. Out of it come these new plants breaking free of their oppressive names and histories. Was that also an idea from the beginning?
This came about when I was doing my first experimentation with artificial intelligence using generative AI and deep fakes. In the colonial process there is a splitting of nature and culture; that nature must be conquered by their [Western] culture. What if we do this by going beyond the scale of nature with awful, common and scientific names—a eugenic methodology to create a Western ideal. There are similarities in AI methodologies. So I wanted to bring together these datasets of these prejudicial plants but to then go beyond the patterns [in the algorithms] to create these new hybrid plants born out of a prejudiced mindset. There were so many possibilities that were born, the result was very good.
This exhibit was so educational for me, so many plant names have such hurtful and painful histories. So many were surprising, like the history of lavender being used in U.S. politics to describe the “perceived threat” of the LGBTQ+ community. Were there any stories that shocked you in particular?
The shock came for me at the start, when I first came to understand how awful the scientific names are. I have a published dataset of 200 plants and there are 50 antisemitic names. There are plant names that erase the culture and history of Indigenous people. The amount of names that touch on the genocide of Indigenous people or enslavement of Black people is shocking. Learning of the plant called “dumb cane,” which was used by plantation owners to torture enslaved people (as it makes the mouth swell when eaten), while they forced people to work in the worst possible conditions, was just horrible. There was so much, and each region has their own specific words targetting different groups. In Brazil, many plants target women and Black people. In Germany, it's Jews and Romani people.
This exhibit premiered at the Museu Judaico de São Paulo, Brazil in 2022 and has since traveled to Pakistan, Italy and now, Toronto. In each city, a garden is always curated. What was it like putting them together?
We are the project of colonialism and it is referenced in our daily lives by the language we use because it signifies our practices. So the idea of reparation, or giving back to the original populations, was an important way to reflect, and these small gardens do that in a small way.
The idea of a weed being a plant that wasn’t profitable or one that needed to be eradicated. It’s how many plants have been targeted. It’s not the main part of the exhibit but creates a strong statement for the exhibition as a whole.
What do you hope people take away from this exhibit?
We did the first mounting of the exhibit in 2022 and now we’re in 2024, the exhibit has never stopped and has travelled to all these different places. I want people to understand that prejudice never targets just one group. Prejudice comes in many forms and if people think the naming of these plants isn’t a problem, it is a problem. The identification cards for the plants aren’t just meant to inform you but shock you.
This interview has edited for clarity and length.