A Garden of Honest Connection with Nature.
A garden where a sincere relationship with plants and the environment is cultivated daily.
Enclosed by a simple lime-washed wall, reminiscent of those still seen in the surrounding countryside, and embraced by the lush growth of climbing bignonias, unique passionflowers, fragrant jasmines, and honeysuckles, lies a small experimental world. With deep practical and aesthetic roots in tradition yet ideals that look toward the future, this garden, designed as a room, is above all a child of our time: it is (or at least aims to be) an extremely honest, sober, and realistic attempt at resistance. It does not proclaim, (perhaps) does not astonish, and does not fill itself with symbols, but rather seeks to demonstrate, in a very concrete and almost didactic way, the functioning of a system.
The wind, captured by a large wind pump, sets the water in motion, which flows from basin to basin, is filtered by the efficient roots of irises and rushes, becoming clear, transparent, and irresistible before disappearing underground to feed the cycle once again. This linear, almost rustic structure has been integrated into an exuberant setting—because atmosphere matters, now more than ever—without concealing it through an excess of design. It remains an essential architecture, shaded by the canopies of plane trees and brushed by the fronds of aralias, variegated reeds, and ferns, both arboreal and otherwise. The vegetation is intentionally non-philological yet plausible, composed almost entirely of foliage.
Carpets of aquatic mint, a few water lilies, and large clusters of papyrus peek out from the basins, which are nothing more than simple square reservoirs resembling cisterns or watering troughs. This garden seeks to evoke a Sicily that is, unfortunately, becoming increasingly rare—always parched yet with the gift of an oasis. The spring of the Ciane River near Syracuse or the very source of Arethusa on Ogygia are enough to inspire. These environments are among the most fragile, on the verge of becoming true mirages.
No poisons, only the gentle sound of the wind, the murmur of water, and at night, the song of nightingales and the croaking of frogs—a small, homely example to help preserve memory.