For some time now, in an effort to keep a physical memory of how I tend to my plants, I have started taking photographs of them whenever I notice a sign of growth or make a change. It helps me remember what I am capable of, and how caring for my green companions grounds me in my everyday life.
On each printed photograph, I gently write down the plant’s name and the date, which, of course, marks the very day I spent time working with it.
Naturally, all of this takes time. While not too long ago tending to my plants felt like an end in itself, a self-contained routine, capturing them right afterward demands a certain presence. It requires paying attention to the exact details I want to preserve from that moment, transforming it into a keepsake printed on chemical paper.
In reality, even though they look like traditional instant photos, I actually shoot them with my Canon mirrorless camera. I then transfer them to the Instax WIDE layout and print app, and bring them to life using this lovely little portable printer by Fujifilm.
This is something I do solely for myself, a way to keep a personal diary of memories. I don’t do it for anyone else, nor do I care to share it with the world. My only desire is to fulfill this wish of mine: to weave together my greatest passions (photography and plants) and build, brick by brick, what will one day be a photo album. Years from now, I will flip through its pages and remember how fragile and vulnerable I used to be. I’ll think of how much protection these two sanctuaries offered me, allowing me to escape the frantic, relentless rush of daily life that so often overwhelms me.
As I mentioned before, all of this takes time. And so, over the course of a month, I have only produced four photographs (just about one a week).
The project was born with these photographs of my baby Monstera Adansonii, taken right after a repotting. The purple glow from her grow light cast beautiful shadows against the wall. This little Monstera had previously been damaged by my playful cats. Yet, despite it all, she holds onto all her beauty; those torn leaves are a gentle mark left by my cats, a permanent, cherished memory.
The only carnivorous plant I’ve managed to successfully care for. While the other two I bought along with her met a sad end (they were my very first three carnivorous plants, teaching me the hard way not to expect to know how to do everything all at once, but rather to learn step by step, giving myself a little more time), she is thriving. These photographs were taken after her very first repotting. The photo in the center captures my absolute favorite trap.
My Monstera Thai Constellation after her very first repotting. Specifically, I added a coco coir pole because she had started developing some remarkable aerial roots. This time, instead of focusing on one specific part of the plant, I wanted to experiment, weaving together three different shots side by side to create a collage, almost Cubist effect.
The last photograph taken so far: a few little stems from my jewel orchid. The mother plant lives in the bathroom, right by the windowsill. While my cats were chasing each other in play, they accidentally bumped into the pot, sending it crashing to the floor. A few stems broke off, so I wanted to try and turn them into cuttings, hoping to encourage new roots to grow. I placed them gently on a moist mix of sphagnum moss and bark. To this day, I haven’t quite found the courage to check if they have actually rooted, but I’ve noticed that while one of the stems didn’t make it, another has put out a brand-new leaf.
Tending to plants is a journey that never truly ends; every single day brings a small act of care, even if it’s just gently dusting their leaves. This gives me hope that, one day, I will have built a rich, beautifully thick album, one that could potentially go on forever. Today’s future still feels a bit too close, but I wait (with a stubborn, quiet impatience) for the day I will look back at these photographs. I’ll wonder what became of those torn leaves on the Monstera Adansonii, or remember the exact feelings that moved me to try and rescue those little jewel orchid cuttings.
Digital photos are beautiful, of course, but the physical touch of paper, with those slightly faded colors that carry the scent of a lived-in life… that is an entirely different story.
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