Cover Story: Lily Kwong Cultivates Living Landscapes of Memory and Renewal

The landscape designer and artist Lily Kwong is known for her relationship to the natural world. Her academic-meets-intuitive approach to plant life—informed by urban and sociology studies at Columbia University and programs at the New York Botanical Garden, among other jobs and personal projects—has propelled her into the spotlight as the darling of plantae. Over the years, brands like Hermès, Buccellati, and St-Germain have flocked to her green thumb, entrusting her to create permanent and ephemeral installations that immerse the viewer in unforgettable scenes of flora and fauna, but in felt experiences of ritual, memory, and meditation, too. An authentic and careful combination of species selection, symbolism, and storytelling is her special sauce.

Her recent projects mark some of her most ambitious and personal works to date. In San Francisco, Kwong unveiled “EARTHSEED DOME” (January 17–July 31) with the Institute of Contemporary Art San Francisco, installed within the Transamerica Redwood Grove as part of the institution’s new nomadic exhibition model. Constructed from 130 individually 3D-printed blocks, the earthen dome was realized in collaboration with Ground Cover, Habitat Horticulture, E.B. Min, and engineers from Endrestudio, blending emerging technologies with centuries-old building traditions. Although she grew up in nearby Mill Valley, just 13 miles north of San Francisco, it was her first project in Northern California.

Kwong’s “Gardens of Renewal” (April 22–September 1, 2025) also recently appeared in New York’s Madison Square Park. Transforming two major lawns into meditative public gardens, the work’s spiral paths are planted with roughly 3,000 native and indigenous plants across 50 species, accompanied by an illustrated guide and play structures created by Lily Consuelo Saporta Tagiuri. Together, the projects reflect the artist’s evolving commitment to storytelling through landscape—where species selection becomes both ecological strategy and emotional language, and public space becomes a site for collective reflection, grief, healing, and renewal.

Earlier this summer, Whitewall met Kwong at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden for a photoshoot among the very materials she uses in her creative practice, and others that inspire her. Between blossoming bluebells and under sweeping canopies of willow trees, she traced the roots of her philosophy back to her childhood, growing up exploring redwood forests near Muir Woods. Returning to the Bay Area to create “EARTHSEED DOME” became both a homecoming and a reckoning, shaped by memory, childhood, and now motherhood.

Currently based in Los Angeles with her husband and children after living in other cities like New York and Miami, Kwong described how California’s increasingly visible climate realities—from drought and fire to ecological displacement—have sharpened her understanding of stewardship, resilience, and interdependence. Living with a garden of her own for the first time since childhood has also shifted the physicality of her practice, allowing experimentation with earthen forms, native planting, and regenerative systems that increasingly appear in her public works.

Kwong returned to the idea that plants are not merely decorative organisms, but living carriers of ancestry, ceremony, medicine, and cultural memory. Whether discussing pollinator corridors, seed dispersal hubs created in partnership with the Altadena Seed Library, or the symbolic spiral forms embedded in her installations, she spoke about landscape as an embodied act of care, rooted equally in horticultural knowledge and intuitive, emotional understanding. Becoming a mother, she shared, has also deepened that perspective, reshaping her relationship to time, presence, and creative intuition while reinforcing her desire to create spaces that reconnect people to both one another and the natural world.

WHITEWALL: One of the first conversations we had, you spoke about being a kid in Muir Woods, leading nature clubs under the nickname “Scout,” which spurred your love of nature. How did those early experiences shape you, and how are they still at play today? 

LILY KWONG: Growing up in Marin really shaped who I am on a cellular level. There’s a Lawrence Durrell quote I love that says, “We are children of our landscape; it dictates behavior and even thought in the measure to which we are responsive to it.” As open as our consciousness is, our spirit is, and our mind is, you can be completely transformed by your ecological environment. We’re all influenced by our surroundings, but as a young, creative child deeply open to the world, growing up among these ancient redwoods, I came to see them as ancestors. It was a very spiritual experience to be in those old-growth forests. I felt like an outsider growing up in Marin County, so I was in the woods all the time. Those were where my friends and community were—other people who were also drawn to the woods and being outside.

Returning Home with “EARTHSEED DOME”

WW: Let’s talk about “EARTHSEED DOME,” your first project back in Northern California, which must feel surreal for someone who has always been so closely tied to the natural influences there. 

LK: I know! The primary influence, and seed of my work, emerges from Northern California, so to return for a project in such a prominent, iconic landmark space—the Transamerica building and the redwood grove—was amazing. The redwood trees have influenced me so much, and I consider them guides and mentors of mine. To get to do a piece in a redwood grove in the middle of San Francisco with the ICA San Francisco—who’s doing such an innovative, interesting work—and be one of the first projects as they shift to a nomadic model, which is really challenging what a museum can be and how it can be intertwined with the urban fabric of the city, embodies so many of the creative and transformational values that I hold as an artist and a young person growing up there. It felt like a very catalytic, kinetic, exciting project to be invited to create.

WW: The installation is also created in collaboration with a tech company for its 3D-printing element. As we think about organic versus innovative materials, how do you balance those worlds? What was it like creating this piece with that in mind?

LK: That was my motivating question. We’re all living through this AI revolution, this technology revolution, as we’ve been experiencing and hearing about it ad nauseam. Being invited to do something in San Francisco, which is ground zero for a lot of that emerging technology, my question—as an artist who’s been so connected to the tactile experience of working with the land—was, “Can these forces collaborate in a way that moves us toward a more sustainable, harmonious future? Can new technology and ancient technology, or robotics and earthen architecture, combine to create a new form that is more ecologically sustainable than traditional building techniques? More in harmony with the planet and our limited resources?” 

“Can these forces collaborate in a way that moves us toward a more sustainable, harmonious future?”

Lily Kwong

I’ve never worked with robotics before, or 3D printing. My work has been incredibly tactile. What really struck me and what inspired me was that ultimately what built this project was community—human beings, not robots. It was not completely 3D-printed on-site by a robotic arm. It was dozens of people coming together. We had the amazing team at the ICA, and I ended up tapping a team called Ground Cover in San Francisco—who are essentially masons and landscape architects—to construct the dome brick by brick. Although all 130 blocks were individually 3D-printed by a printer, it was these masons using hands-on knowledge to bring the dome to life. I also worked with an amazing team called Habitat Horticulture. Because we were doing all these complex things with 3D-printed seeded soil and organic material blocks, I wanted to bring in expertise from horticulturists who have a deep understanding of native plants and seeds and how to nurture them and create long-term health. 

I also worked with engineers from Endrestudio to help secure the dome, as well as Min Design, an architecture practice that was instrumental to realizing the project… Although we relied heavily on technology for the actual printing of the individual blocks, what made the art piece was actually the community effort.

Plants as Storytellers and Learning from Botanical Gardens

WW: Community, collaboration, and storytelling have always been so strong in your work. How important is storytelling to your overall practice?  

LK: That’s really at the core of my practice—bringing plants into a biocultural context, which means understanding plants not merely as organisms, but as beings that are profoundly intertwined with human culture, memory, medicine, spirituality, ceremony, identity, and collective survival. Up until recently, plants were completely interwoven with our culture—not just as our medicines and building materials, but as a part of our mythology and cosmology. Traditional cultures still keep that connection and relationship alive, but across all cultures throughout history, plants were meaningful actors in the story of humanity and our existence. The Western separation between nature and culture is fairly new, whereas biocultural stewardship recognizes that human societies and plant ecologies have co-evolved over millennia. So much of my work is an attempt to make these deep and ancient ties more legible. 

WW: You mentioned that the relationship between nature and culture is something that can be found in nature-based public spaces, like community gardens and botanical gardens. We hosted our cover shoot at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, and watching you navigate a space like that was special. You were pointing out flowers and trees and sharing factoids as we moved from space to space. How did it feel to be in a space like that for this occasion?

LK: So much of my education around landscape and plants has really come from botanical gardens. I didn’t go to landscape architecture school. My academic background is in urban planning, and my first job out of school was at a landscape design firm. The way that I gathered a lot of my knowledge and understanding was through being on the ground, working very closely with horticulturists and people who are physically tending to the plants, but also by going to botanical gardens. 

I took a certificate program at the New York Botanical Garden, so I was in literal classes at a botanical garden. And when I was studying and learning about plants through my own self-guided, self-taught study, I would go to places like the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden, The Huntington Botanical Garden, and San Francisco’s Botanical Gardens. The plants are so curated, but there’s also such good documentation and context around the plants. It was amazing for someone who’s learning and hungry for information. It was such a great resource. 

I’ve also found through my experience that plant people are some of the most generous people you have ever met. They are tending to and caring for things that don’t speak. They’re very tender people because they have to understand things that don’t communicate in the way that we’re used to. I found that when I would lurk around botanical gardens and talk to someone who was tending the beds, or someone on the horticulture team, they would sit and talk to you if they had the time. If they’re not in a rush, they’ll talk to you for 20 minutes about a specific question you have about anorchid because they have such a deep connection and love for plants. That’s where I gathered a lot of my knowledge and information. It was the verbal transmission, and connecting with people—everywhere from botanical gardens to public parks and nurseries.

“Plant people are some of the most generous people you have ever met. They are tending to and caring for things that don’t speak.”

Lily Kwong

I felt really lucky to be able to shoot at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. It’s so sculptural. It’s so thoughtful. There’s real legacy there. Some of the trees are now decades and decades old, yet through all of the changes at the institution, they’re still there in all their beauty and presence. 

Being able to shoot around that with such beautiful design and fashion was a layering of so many of the things that have interested me and inspired me on my journey as a person.

It’s interesting, too, coming from fashion. I don’t get to do shoots like that very often anymore—getting to express myself through fashion. It was something that I tried to distance myself from as I was trying to establish myself. But now, I’m like, “This is actually part of my biography, and it’s beautiful.” It was a gift to get to be playful. I watch my daughter and my son play dress-up in the garden, so I think, “Why shouldn’t I get to do that?” [Laughs]

Symbols of Transformation and Intuition 

WW: You were also wearing gorgeous jewelry pieces from Bvlgari, which you hand-picked. How does the brand, and its values, designs, and ethos resonate with you?

LK: I loved wearing the Serpenti, the snake jewelry. Snakes are definitely an animal ally of mine. There’s a snake on the necklace I wear every single day. I have a snake rug in the entry of my home, when you enter the threshold of my house in L.A. I have a couple of snake sculptures that live in my home. Snake symbolism really embodies such a profound duality. They universally symbolize rebirth, healing, and transformation. There’s also so much fear around snakes, just like we fear being transformed or changed by our life experience or the world. I carry snakes with me to remind me not to be afraid, as we have the opportunity to walk through the fire of transformation regularly in our lives. The moments where I’ve been brave enough to cross that threshold and open myself up to the transformation are where the greatest growth has been. 

It’s a very powerful animal symbol, I find. I don’t have tattoos, so my jewelry takes the place of holding different symbols, moments, or reminders as I’ve gone through life as things that mark me. My relationship to jewelry is very personal. A brand like Bvlgari is creating heritage pieces and pieces that can grow with you and be passed on, so I loved wearing the snake. 

“A brand like Bvlgari is creating heritage pieces and pieces that can grow with you and be passed on, so I loved wearing the snake.”

Lily Kwong

WW: Like the snake, you’re very intuitive, and it’s what gives your work’s academic approach an edge. How do you use these approaches in tandem when working on projects?

LK: It’s such a tension in my life and in my work. It’s something I feel the constant push and pull of. My training was through a more academic route—going to a research university, studying at the New York Botanical Garden, and at Columbia—and there’s a certain training of how to approach a research question, which is very rooted in history, white papers, and lots of reading, and I really love that. I operated that way for most of the academic part of my life. Then, my journey in my spiritual practice has led me to much more intuitive practices and teachers who are not coming from a Western perspective, but from alternative perspectives and more spiritually- and intuitively-centered practices. You get very different results with what your output is, depending on which part of your system you approach a project with, whether it’s your mind or your heart. I feel the call to both. 

Designing Spaces for Renewal and What’s Next

WW: You often use the word “meditative” to explore your installations and encourage your viewers to take the environment in at a slower pace. It feels grounding. How has your understanding and interest in wellness evolved as your practice has expanded? Does your work reflect that?

LK: I think there’s an unspoken invitation embedded in the work. What I’m trying to do is create moments of harmony and offer them into a world that often feels so dissonant right now. At the ICA, the dome expresses interdependence through its very form—each block is supported by the ones around it, creating a visual reminder of our reliance on one another. Surrounded by skyscrapers reaching toward the sky, the dome instead reaches toward the earth, offering a more grounded, embodied, and relational experience. It also carries a feminine, womb-like quality, evoking shelter, care, and possibility. Ultimately, my work seeks to create spaces where people can slow down, reconnect, and experience a deeper sense of belonging—to themselves, to one another, and to the natural world.

That is an example to me of wellness—architectural and design wellness in a very rectilinear world, offering forms that are connected to our own biology and a simple way of living. Same with the spiral in Madison Square Park. A spiral is one of our oldest and most potent symbols that suggests renewed perspective—death and rebirth, healing, moving toward the center. That’s something that I feel we all are going through, this process of going internal and coming out with this expanded perspective, knowing that some things need to die for new life or a new worldview to emerge. Trying to translate these ideas that are in my own personal meditations into environments and physical spaces has been an interesting exercise creatively.

WW: What are you working on next?

LK: I’m honored to have been invited into a three-year residency with the USC Pacific Asia Museum, where I’ll be reimagining the museum’s permanent courtyard. The project feels deeply personal, connecting my Asian heritage with a site dedicated to Asian art and culture. Through the residency, I hope to build on research I began at the New York Botanical Garden, exploring my family’s migration from China to Australia and eventually San Francisco. Because their history is so richly documented—including connections to politics and the medicinal herb trade—I’m interested in creating a living landscape biography that traces themes of migration, memory, and cultural exchange through plants.

I also want to return to the Lumens, the body of work that I showed with Night Gallery in 2024. I’ve been creating lumens for the past year, but haven’t curated them into a presentation yet, and that’s something I am excited to explore in this next cycle.

There are a few other projects that I can’t talk about yet that are more urban-scale that I’m hoping to develop with partners, continuing the research and work that I’ve been doing with my past few public works and installations.