16 february 2025, Martine Bontjes
The studio of… Elisa Strinna
In her latest exhibition ‘My Body is a Plant’, Elisa Strinna uncovers the hidden relationships between the human body and plants. During the pandemic, the Italian artist felt isolated and struggled with sleep and breathing problems. She filled her studio with plants and found comfort in their presence, feeling less lonely and confined. This led to the start of her new project: “I started to study them, not only as companions but also as medicines.” Strinna investigated the medicinal powers of plants and herbs to relieve her anxiety. This research led to a series of fascinating porcelain sculptures, showcasing the symbolic and visual similarities between plants and the human anatomy.
Currently, Strinna is transitioning to a new studio in Charlois, Rotterdam, surrounded by many other artists. She knows exactly how to balance her practical and creative tasks. She reserves the mornings for mental calm and administrative work; in the afternoons and evenings, she lets her creativity flow in Charlois. There, she prefers to work in silence, with her previous works as companions around her.
The exhibition ‘My Body is a Plant’ will be on view at Galerie Caroline O'Breen in Amsterdam until 8 March 2025.
Where is your studio, and what does it look like?
I am based in Rotterdam, but for the past three months, I’ve been working at the EKWC (European Ceramic Workcentre) in Oisterwijk. This shift in my working environment has allowed me to access more specialized ceramic infrastructure, including large kilns, which has made it possible to experiment with bigger porcelain sculptures. At the moment, I am changing studios in Rotterdam and joining a new complex in Charlois, where many other artist studios are located. I’m curious to see how I will settle into this new space. For now, I know I’ll have two separate areas — one for my equipment, including the kiln, and another for production.
Are there objects or music that you always have around you while working?
I like to be surrounded by some of my older works, creating a dialogue between past and present. I don’t listen to music very often, as I need a lot of concentration while working, but sometimes — especially when I’m further along in a process — I enjoy having music in the background.
What does a typical studio day look like? Do you have certain routines to start your day?
I usually go to my studio after 1 PM. This routine allows me to start my day with grounding activities, such as yoga and administrative tasks, before immersing myself in creative work. I’ve noticed that structuring my day this way helps maintain a balance between focus and flexibility, though sometimes I try to shift my schedule to break the routine. After lunch, I head to the studio and stay there for the rest of the day, usually until 8 or 9 PM — unless I have to write grant applications, which I prefer to do at home.
In your new exhibition, you explore the relationship between humans and plants. How did you start this research? What drew you to the symbolic and medicinal use of plants?
‘My Body is a Plant’ began in 2022 in preparation for documenta fifteen. I was interested in exploring alternative remedies for the ailments caused by the isolation of the pandemic. During that time, I began suffering from sleep and breathing problems due to anxiety caused by isolation. Many others were experiencing even more severe conditions. In my quest to better understand the roots of this malaise, I began reflecting on possible remedies. My studio at the time was full of plants, and taking care of them helped me feel less isolated. So I started to look into them, not just as companions but as medicine.
I started using Valeriana Officinalis to help with my sleep, and while researching it, I came across an intriguing article by Italian herbalist Karin Mecozzi. I contacted her and asked if she could guide me in my research. We began working together with valerian, and later expanded our exploration to other plants. Together, we analyzed each plant in depth — examining how they interact with our bodies and ethereal constitution. At the same time, I tested these plants on myself as medicine. Through this work, I came to understand that morphology is not just an aesthetic feature but a signifier, revealing a much broader meaning embedded in a vast network of connections. By closely observing plants and human anatomy, I discovered unexpected links that dissolved the perceived separation between these two seemingly distinct worlds. We have been conditioned to think that plants and humans belong to different realms, but the resemblance between our organs and those of plants is astonishing. For example, the roots of valerian form a dense network of "nerves," reminiscent of a neural network, while our bronchi have the same branching patterns as alpine shrubs. Often, the shape of a plant can also provide clues to its healing properties.
You describe your sculptures as "supernatural bodies." Can you explain how you translate this concept into the physical forms in your work?
The sculptures emerge from a slow research process that blends rigorous scientific study of plants — analyzing their morphology and chemical structure — with an exploration of the ethereal dimension of consciousness, where plants and humans interact. The encounter with the vegetal world opens the door to an unknown territory, a supernatural realm — a space that transcends the limits of human experience.
The sculptures embody this meeting point between human and plant life. In this liminal space — the site of transformation — the two entities merge, initiating a process that leads to healing.
In your work, you often explore themes of transformation and impermanence. How do you see the relationship between the impermanence of the body and the (sometimes) eternal nature of plants?
I believe every body contains both permanence and impermanence. The individual body is transient, yet it reproduces and transforms within plurality — a principle that applies to both humans and plants. However, we tend to focus on individuality, which, on a physical level, is ephemeral and destined to dissolve. What can endure is its imprint on matter, on objects, on what has a more lasting or reproducible nature — what we eventually define as culture. In the plant world, on the other hand, there seems to be an eternal return: the body of the plant changes, yet its properties remain unchanged, evoking a sense of eternity. And yet, plants also possess individuality — we are simply not accustomed to perceiving it.
This exhibition represents a transition point for me, a collection of studies leading to a series of works that I like to call "inscriptions," a kind of alphabet where humans and plants enter into dialogue. What I hope to achieve through this experience is to spark curiosity about the reflections I mentioned earlier. The amount of knowledge that informs the creation of these sculptures is immense, and I hope the viewer can sense at least a trace of it through the works. These pieces are not meant to be explanatory but evocative; they serve as poems, a type of writing molded by the form of plants and human bodies, suggesting a space of initiation, encounter and transformation.
Are there any projects or collaborations you are currently dreaming of but haven’t yet been able to realise?
Yes, I have a few projects in mind, but my work is structured in different chapters. For now, I have a new film I would like to develop, focusing on space colonialism and terraforming missions. As for plant medicine, I feel the need to take a step back after this intense period of work and reflect on the next developments. I am interested in continuing my research on how colonial expansionism has exploited medicinal plant knowledge, particularly in relation to the Dutch colonial history, since I am based here. At the same time, I want to further explore the ancient Italian use of medicinal plants in ritualistic practices, from the Romans and Etruscans to more recent times.
