Seaweed Becomings: conversation with Salicornia Studio

During his residency at Mediamatic, Federico Rizzo /Salicornia Studio created a table structure containing dredged canal sediment from the Oosterdok. Hosting Seaweed Becomings—a seaweed-inspired menu crafted by TestTafel chef Hamish Day.

→ Read more about Seaweed Becomings

So, thinking back to your work before being here—how did you end up with your current artistic practice?

FR: The most important aspect that changed in my practice over the past year, though, is my proximity to food. A year ago, I was more focused on preparing the food itself—acting as a food designer who uses ingredients and recipes as part of a happening or performance. Now, I prefer designing the supports for food: the tables, surfaces, and rooms that contextualize it. Without that context, food loses a bit of its narrative power. I shaped my understanding of food as a storytelling tool.

Now, instead of just speaking about it, I also use it to denounce certain problems. My practice has shifted slightly from concepts of wetness and proliferation toward dryness and biological death. You can see this reflected across different environments, especially after moving to the south of Italy for the past seven months. I really saw how the landscape is mismanaged.

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I remember another project of yours where you grew yeast using your body weight and body heat?

FR: Yes! It brought together a scientific approach, performance, food, and object design all into one. It was called When Yeast Becomes Your Beast.

I began researching the presence of fungi in our everyday lives and realized that sourdough yeast is the oldest interspecies partnership in human history. It even ties into Christian mythology and ancient history. I wondered: Usually, humans cultivate yeast. What if that relationship was inverted, and the yeast cultivated us?

So I built a small container where the relationship was reciprocal: I influenced the yeast with my body temperature and heartbeat, and the yeast nurtured me by producing bread. That project made me realize that food can be an incredible medium to tell stories and narrate ecological change. From there, I developed a methodology centered on designing objects that allow food to speak for its own mythology.

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It's fascinating how you explore food concepts even without directly handling food, like your work with seaweed.

FR: Seaweed isn't considered "food" by everyone, so I wanted to challenge myself to shift that perception and make it more accessible. Coming off the Multi-Species Dinner, I realized seaweed is a democratic crop—nearly every species can digest or benefit from it.

Seaweed became a manifesto for understanding the coast differently, moving away from extractive mindsets toward collective ecological benefit. From there, I expanded into site-specific projects that address local contexts. A methodology has to operate locally and adapt to its audience; you can't just drop the exact same concept anywhere and expect people to interpret it the same way.

This led to projects exploring new mediums, such as sound. 

I also experimented with concepts of the future and self-sustaining productive cycles. I created a project where I preserved common vegetables under salt for 50 years. Statistics show that due to current water consumption, these everyday vegetables might become extinct or hyper-luxurious luxuries in half a century. By preserving them now, we leave a time capsule to learn what these foods meant to us.

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How does that evolution feed into your current project with seaweed?

FR: A year ago, I would have focused strictly on the storytelling of the ingredient itself—speaking about seaweed through seaweed. But after this past year, I realize the ingredient can stand on its own. My role now is to build the stage for it to thrive in our collective imagination. I want to create a space where seaweed naturally integrates into daily routines.

The table I'm designing for this residency functions as both furniture and a living environment that supports different species—not just symbolically, but literally. Seaweed becomes the medium that facilitates communication between the species sharing the table.

Since your work relies heavily on local materials, it’s fitting that seaweed is local here in the Netherlands too. What possibilities do you see for seaweed here?

FR: Seaweed is an incredible material because its possibilities are endless: you can make food, yarn, packaging materials, or even building panels out of it. Beyond its physical uses, marine plants produce more oxygen than terrestrial forests. It’s a complex, powerful system that needs to be understood properly so it isn't exploited.

If everyone suddenly starts harvesting wild marine algae because it's "sustainable," we risk destroying fragile marine ecosystems. That's why sustainable seaweed farming is critical. For this project, I partnered with a local seaweed farm to produce a clean, shelf-stable, replicable product suitable for restaurants and beyond. The main goal of this project is to bring these different entities together and provide a shared platform or "stage" for all these voices to connect. As designers, we create the structures—the chairs that form part of the parliament.

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Speaking of local elements, you sampled material directly from the canal outside Mediamatic for casting. How did you approach using the canal, and what does it represent for you?

FR: I was intrigued by how the canal is widely perceived as a "dead" or toxic habitat. When I told people I was sampling material from the canal to build the table, they looked at me like I was crazy and called it poisonous—even though people swim in it during the summer!

It made me wonder how a habitat right on our doorstep became viewed as a dangerous threshold. In reality, there is a surprising amount of life along those artificial shores. The boundary between "artificial" and "natural" is fluid; life thrives anywhere under the right conditions. Rather than buying clean sand from a hardware store, we sampled the canal bank and discovered that alongside discarded bikes and metal, the sediment is full of shells, crabs, and living algae. It’s about taking a living system and allowing it to become part of the structure.

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What is the ultimate goal or intended experience for someone sitting at this table?

FR: For this residency, I wanted to create a permanent, living, edible landscape that evolves over time—a functional space where you can sit, eat, and reflect on long-term coexistence.

Designing a functional object with specific dimensions while allowing nature to take over is a delicate balance. Moses will grow on it, crops will sprout, and birds or insects might leave droppings or burrow into the crevices. It becomes a dynamic, living environment to observe and interact with.


This interview took place in August 2026