Plant motifs found throughout the interiors of Warsaw’s Royal  Baths architecture—woven into arrases, sprouting from the hands  and heads of depicted figures, painted on vases and wallpaper, or  embroidered on historic tapestries—form the point of departure  for Paradiso, a parade of plants. Static, decorative traces of past  botanical voyages come alive in the park, weaving a sensuous,  richly coloured tale of plant migration, exoticism, and the world  of citrus. The performance unfolds by daylight, becoming part of  the royal residence’s natural and architectural landscape.

At the centre are the plants themselves—travellers in their own  right. Behind them emerge the figures of pioneers and botanical  explorers, and with them human resolve, driven by a host of different motives. Most moving of all is the agency of living beings  as they pass through successive centuries and civilisations. Plants  have been in ceaseless motion for ages: carried by the wind,  borne by animals, or migrating through human agency. Before  taking root in new soil, they crossed continents and the borders  of empires over generations.

Citrus fruits offer a telling example: they reached Europe not as  everyday foodstuffs, but as emblems of prestige and luxury. Before  citrus trees became a familiar part of the Mediterranean landscape, they spent centuries as migrants. Initially the elite preserve  of rulers’ gardens and wealthy collectors, citron trees appeared in  a Persian royal garden near Jerusalem in the fifth and fourth centuries BCE, and later in the residences of Rome’s elite. Their long  journey led from Assam and the Himalayan foothills through  Persia, the Levant, and Mediterranean ports, and onwards  to the orangeries of early modern Europe. Seen in this light,  the orangery ceases merely to be a building: it becomes a technology for migration, a temporary refuge, and an architecture of  hospitality for species unable to survive an alien climate without  human care. In these spaces, plants from distant continents met,  forming novel proximities and relationships with no counterpart  in nature—much as people meet in ports, cities, and empires.

The Plant Parade brings rhythm into the Royal Baths as a manifestation of freedom and collective energy. The artist explores  how new traditions are grafted and how botanical collections  have been displayed, turning gardens into exhibition spaces  for centuries. The display of plants and their journeys becomes  a composition in space.

The performance unfolds in the water, around the Palace on  the Isle and its ponds, its choreography springing directly from  the architecture’s classical symmetry. The performance and music  proceed simultaneously on the north and south sides of the building, producing two coexisting tableaux. The audience cannot  experience the event in its entirety from any single vantage  point; they absorb it while moving and from afar, poised between  what they see and what they hear from the opposite bank. Both  the audience and sound itself remain in constant motion.

Paradiso is also a self-contained musical experience. The work  was composed for a countertenor, a rapper, a four-voice vocal  ensemble, and the plant parade itself—performers wearing living, intricate floral arrangements integral to both the costumes  and the sculptural articulation of space. The work unfolds over  a fifty-minute structure comprising fourteen short scenes performed live. At its core is a recurring melody that travels among  the voices, water, architecture, and participants.

Looping is the means by which this acoustic fabric is built: small  and large loops grow out of the rhythms of wandering, the passage of time, and recurring rituals. The loop becomes a figure for  migration. It signifies not mechanical repetition, but the continuous flow and wandering of forms, melodies, and memories.  The movement seems to return to its point of departure, yet each  time it is carried by different bodies, landscapes, and histories.

The palace is no ordinary stage: water becomes the true instrument. The surface of the ponds acts like a giant membrane,  carrying and reflecting sounds. Through water, we listen and  transmit the voice. Hydrophones submerged beneath the surface  reveal the site’s hidden acoustic layers, while the music travels  between the banks. The parade gradually unfolds, each successive  performer appearing like a new species introduced into a shared  landscape. Sound, movement, and vegetation merge into a vast  archive of movement. Paradiso tells of a landscape built from  arrivals, acclimatisation, encounters, and care—a world in which  plants have crossed borders for centuries, forming new communities and modes of coexistence.