Crafting Interspecies Care: Conversation with Anđela Zora Brnas

One afternoon in August, we sat down with Anđela Zora Brnas in the middle of her residency to talk about a Crafting Interspecies Care project that is still very much alive and changing. In Mediamatic’s Tumulus garden, she has been growing and weaving a living willow structure—part shelter, part experiment in how space might be designed with other species in mind.

Rather than only looking at what she is making, we wanted to talk about the ideas and compromises shaping the work: why willow, what it means to give up some artistic control when working with a living species, how humans can share space without constantly occupying it, and what happens when an art project has to follow seasonal time instead of an exhibition schedule.

The conversation moves between old knowledge, urban ecosystems, artist ego, practical limitations and the question at the centre of Anđela’s practice: how can we make space with other species rather than only for ourselves?

→ Read more about the installation Multispecies Basket

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Your practice brings together spatial design, craft and multispecies thinking. Why did willow become the species you wanted to work with?

A.Z.B.: When I was choosing the topic for my graduation project, I didn't yet know exactly what I wanted to make. But I knew the ethics and values I wanted to work with. My first principle was that I wanted to work in collaboration with another species.

The second came from spatial design: how can we create spaces and structures that invite more life and bring people closer to the ecosystem? How do we decentralise humans so that we become just one inhabitant of a larger ecosystem?

Through my practice and studies, I realized that general design and spatial planning usually take materials and space to build things almost exclusively for humans. But often, not even humans benefit from that, because it can disconnect us from our bodies, nature and the ecosystems around us. I became interested in the middle ground: architecture where human needs and the needs of other species can meet.

Eventually, I stumbled upon a research paper about living architecture and learned that willow is one of the ancient trees used to make living structures. The more I dived into exploring willow as a species, a tree, and a material for crafting, the more I realized how intertwined it is with both Dutch and Croatian culture. That was a moment where i knew i want to collaborate with willow trees. I really felt some kind of energy weaving all of this together into a journey that is still growing and evolving.  

At first, part of me thought I should work with a species that hadn't already been explored so much. But there is also so much existing knowledge that is getting lost. I think we have become obsessed with innovation—the idea that as designers, architects, and artists, you have to create something nobody has ever seen before. It sounds cool and extraordinary, like you're saving the planet, but it creates so much pressure. In chasing that pressure, you often lose your values along the way. At least, that's what I felt.

There are many things we already know that can be rediscovered and placed in today's context. That is a contribution too. I wanted to learn from the willow itself, from the species around it and from the people who already carry knowledge about working with it. And from there it just grew. I'm still learning. It's really a never-ending process, which is what I love about it.

Also, an important moment was when I met artist Jasper Riehm, on Instagram known under the name @thatweirdplantguy. It was such an exciting moment to meet someone equally excited about building with willow trees and to exchange our passion. He shared with me his skills of building living willow structures and helped me to make the living willow dome for my graduation project at Kabk (together with artist Theo Rekelhof and many other volunteers). It's hard to mention all creative humans and non-humans that contributed and played an important role in the process of this ongoing project, but I am grateful for each one of them.

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How did bringing this approach to Mediamatic change the project?

A.Z.B.: I came with some initial ideas, but I first wanted to experience the space itself: how it felt to inhabit it, which species were already there and how humans interacted with it. Then I could see whether my ideas actually made sense here.

Ideally, I would have planted the willows directly into the soil so that they could connect to the water table and take what they needed on their own. But that wasn't really possible here. Removing the tiles requires permission, and once you plant a willow tree, it grows like crazy. You're basically placing it there forever. It wouldn't have been fair to the tree if it then had to be removed when my residency ended.

That became an interesting logistical challenge. You want to make a project that benefits other species and the ecosystem, but then you encounter human systems, laws, procedures and practical limitations. They don't always match.

So the question became: how do you find a middle ground? How can you do something meaningful within the current possibilities while still questioning those structures?

I decided to scale the project back and work within the Tumulus. The willows are planted in pots so that later they can be transported somewhere else, planted into the ground and allowed to fully go wild.

It's a very humble, small-scale experiment, but I've actually become happy about that. When you enter it, it feels almost like a nest. Humans can’t just be there all the time, which means we have to leave so other species can come in.

I think remaining flexible is necessary. Otherwise, I would simply be imposing my own artist ego—a human artist ego—onto what I think needs to happen. And that's not how I want to work.

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The dome is a space people can enter, but it isn't designed only for us. How do you imagine humans sharing it with other species?

A.Z.B.: That's something I'm still figuring out. My project asks where humans can play a caring role in an ecosystem. How can we interact with this structure and its surroundings in a way that doesn't harm them, but actively contributes?

I want people to feel invited to enter and sit inside. We're creating a pathway and perhaps something small to sit on, but I don't want to make it too comfortable. If people constantly occupy the space, we don't leave much room for other species, especially because the structure is so small.

It's more a space for grounding, feeling your earthly body within the small ecosystem of tumulus garden, observing and connecting with the species and surrounding sounds, textures, smells. The structure also invites for reflection on your impact within the local ecosystems you inhabit and what could your potential caring role/s be.

And I think sharing space doesn't necessarily mean that humans and other species have to occupy exactly the same place at exactly the same moment. Sometimes sharing means observing traces from a distance. Sometimes you step back a few metres so that a bird can stay where it is. Ten minutes later, you enter.

It's like a dance.

Sometimes you can come very close, for example, when insects don't immediately fly away as you enter. Other times, you need more distance. You find the right dynamic rather than assuming that every space should always be accessible to you.

Because this experiment is so small, that dynamic is especially visible. At a larger scale there could be enough distance for several species to inhabit the same structure simultaneously. But even in cities, wildlife is already much more accustomed to being around humans than we sometimes realise.

I would like to develop some kind of game, ritual or invitation around this during the residency, something that helps people explore that relationship rather than simply explaining it to them.

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What can a living willow structure contribute to the ecosystem around it?

A.Z.B.: Willows have incredible superpowers.

In spring, they grow catkins, which are one of the first sources of pollen for bees. They also attract a wide range of birds and insects. Small insects such as aphids attract larger insects such as ladybugs, which in turn provide more food for birds. It creates a whole butterfly effect.

At the same time, I'm trying to be critical about what this particular structure can actually contribute. Because these willows are growing in pots, their ecological impact is more limited than it would be if they were planted directly in the soil.

Naturally, willow root systems can hold riverbanks together. They also need a huge amount of space to expand. That's partly why we kept this structure small. If we built something much larger while keeping the trees in pots, it would eventually become harmful to the willow.

I've also been experimenting with woven, ball-like forms within the structure. I'm curious whether birds or other species might eventually nest in them. As the branches continue growing into one another, they form natural joints, and I can weave the new growth back into the structure to create a series of interconnected nests.

Let's see if it works. If even one species finds a home here, I'll be the happiest person. And if not, I'll learn how to improve it next time.

For me, the structure is also a form of storytelling. Even at this small scale, it lets us imagine different ways of building our surroundings with other species rather than separating ourselves from them or constantly trying to control nature.

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For this last question: How does time influence the whole project, and how will it possibly change moving forward?

A.Z.B.: As a neurodivergent person, I see time very differently and have always struggled with the typical perception of time. I don't see it as linear or as constricted as we have made it in society; I see time as circular and seasonal, which I truly believe it is. When you align your projects with the value of following the seasons and the natural cycles of the local ecosystem, everything changes. 

I actually feel more guided. Decisions become easier because you respond to what is required at that particular moment rather than forcing something to happen according to a human schedule.

I'm still learning how to work directly with those rhythms while also dealing with human logistics and rules. But I've promised myself that working with natural cycles will remain one of the core ethics of my practice.

For my graduation project, for example, I prolonged the project because I wanted to work with the seasons. Something similar happened here. My residency officially started in July, but we planted the willow dome in February because that is the right moment to plant willow.

If you cut and plant willows in the middle of summer, it can be extremely harmful to them. Late winter and early spring are when they are ready to develop new leaves and roots. If you force that process during summer, the tree can become vulnerable to disease or simply die.

I promised myself to hold working with natural cycles as a core ethic. So it's not only a question of whether an art project succeeds or fails. You are dealing with the needs of another living species. Following those cycles has deeply enriched both my life and my creative practice. The willow will continue growing here, and eventually we'll realise when it's time for it to be replanted somewhere else.

The living willow dome remains in Mediamatic’s Tumulus garden and can be visited anytime. To hear more about Anđela’s work and other projects growing across the Biotoop, join a daily Mediamatic tour, Monday to Friday at 14:00.