Between Weeds
Black Rabbit oil and acrylic on canvas 1030 x 1030mm
An Exhibition Exploring the Vital Alchemy of the Garden
My garden is an eclectic mix of plants and weeds. Many of them were inherited from the gardener before me, others given to me by my mother, garden-loving friends, and the rest were bought from the local garden stores. Often, the plants don’t survive the severe southerly blast that hollers up from Antarctica and whips our house and garden with brutality. Over time, I have got better at choosing plants. The ones that dance in the wind and hold a fierce determination to survive have become my favourites. They have strong roots and hardy leaves; they are resilient, like most of us that choose to live in Te Whanganui-a-Tara, Wellington.
I enjoy being in the garden. I like the exercise of pulling out the unwanted weeds, the soaking up of vitamin D, the way my arms hurt the next day, and how I have a restful sleep that night. It’s the best in summer when you can hose the garden in the late afternoon sun, basking in the final rays of the day while giving your plants a drink. It’s soothing to me, especially after a large night drinking too much wine. I have, on occasion, thrown up in our garden. It probably makes quite good compost.
The garden is also a place that holds memories of the people and animals that have shared our lives. When we were growing up, we had a donkey called Roger. You could watch him from the garden kicking the bulls into shape when they were digging holes or fighting. He was quite feisty; he had long hooves because he didn’t like them being clipped. We lost our pet rabbit once, and it bred with the local rabbits—we ended up seeing all sorts of black, white, and multicoloured rabbits around the place. And its not just the animals that make themselves at home here. The insects like the weeds just as much as the other plants. They adore ragwort and dandelions, thistles and gorse. So who decides what is a weed and what is not—and why?
Roger the Donkey oil and acrylic on canvas 1030 x 1030mm
Through painting, I explore this relationship between gardening, memory, place and belonging. The garden becomes more than something to maintain; it becomes a space through which ideas of home, resilience, imperfection and attachment can be considered. I am less interested in the cultivated ideal of the perfect garden—or the perfect life—than in the unruly, imperfect space that exists between weeds, vegetables, trees, flowers and memories.
Between weeds is where I find myself most at home. Emma Hercus August 2026
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