Vienna – The scent of earth hangs in the air at the Weltmuseum Wien, an unusual aroma for a space dedicated to preserving cultural artifacts. But here, amidst displays of global history, leaves are unfurling under artificial light, and roots are taking hold. For Jonathan Fine, the museum’s director, this isn’t simply a curatorial choice; it’s a deeply personal statement about the enduring legacy of colonialism and our interconnected world. “I am grounded,” he says, a phrase he intends both figuratively and literally.
The exhibition, titled “Kolonialismus am Fensterbrett” – Colonialism on the Windowsill – began with a simple observation: how many of the plants we take for granted have roots in colonial trade routes and power structures? From geraniums adorning balconies across Austria and Switzerland to aloe vera passed down through generations, and rubber plants gracing living rooms, these botanical staples originated in distant lands. Fine sought to illuminate this connection, not through moralizing, but through storytelling. “We live in a diverse, vulnerable world. Every continent is interwoven with another,” he explains. He argues that colonialism isn’t a distant historical chapter, but a force that continues to shape our daily lives, often unnoticed, in the very things we see every day.
Bringing the exhibition to life presented significant challenges. Even as displays of commodities like chocolate or tea are relatively straightforward, cultivating living plants in windowless museum spaces demanded innovative solutions. Fine collaborated with Verena Kotonski, the museum’s chief conservator, to develop technical systems for light, climate control, and plant care. The exhibition is intentionally located in a free-access area of the museum, and is complemented by educational programs for schools and children, aiming to foster a new perspective on the familiar.
A Lifelong Connection to the Natural World
Fine’s passion for plants stretches back to his childhood in New York City. “Family trips often led to museums, the zoo, or the New York Botanical Garden in the Bronx,” he recalls. He vividly remembers the contrast between the cold, snowy outdoors and the warm, humid air, the scents, and the lush greenery within the garden’s greenhouses. “I immediately felt at home,” he says. Since then, he has surrounded himself with plants, both at home and in the office. They provide a sense of grounding, he explains, and reconnect him “to what is human.”
Living in Hernals, a district of Vienna near the Gürtel, a circular road around the inner city, Fine prioritized having a balcony, in part to indulge his botanical interests. He favors hardy plants, recognizing his frequent travel schedule. “That’s why I’ve focused on plants like leaf cacti and cacti – plants that are hard to kill. They bloom spectacularly and forgive absence,” he says. He’s particularly fond of succulents, which require minimal care and can thrive even with inconsistent attention.
The Bitter Orange Tree and a Family History
However, one plant holds a special place in Fine’s heart: a bitter orange tree, known as Chinotto. The compact citrus tree, bearing mandarin-like fruit with fragrant white blossoms and a tart, bitter flavor – “perfect for marmalade,” he notes – represents more than just a horticultural pursuit. He received the seeds from a gardener at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, from a historic citrus collection housed in a glassed-in cloister. He nurtured four trees, gifting three away and keeping one for himself. After a decade, it finally bloomed, filling his home with an intense fragrance – a moment of immense pride.
The tree, Fine suggests, is symbolic of many aspects of his life: rootedness, care, patience, and migration. His paternal grandmother hailed from Lemberg (now Lviv, Ukraine), and always identified strongly as Austrian. His maternal lineage traces back to Frankfurt, Germany, from where his Jewish family emigrated to the United States. This family history instilled in him the understanding that identity is not static, but evolves and grows. “And sometimes, it blooms,” he reflects.
Plants as Metaphors for Identity and Global Interconnectedness
This idea resonates with his work at the museum. Like identities, plants are not static. They migrate, are transplanted, and re-root themselves. What was once foreign becomes part of the familiar. Colonial networks brought plants to Europe – today, they shape landscapes and perceptions. “What makes us who we are is that we are part of this interconnected globe,” Fine emphasizes. The exhibition’s website details the historical journeys of these plants and their impact on European culture.
The geranium on an Alpine balcony tells a story of global history just as powerfully as a houseplant in a Viennese office. Sometimes, Fine suggests, simply appreciating the beauty of the blooms is enough to make these connections palpable. The exhibition isn’t about assigning blame, but about fostering awareness and encouraging visitors to reconsider their relationship with the natural world and the historical forces that have shaped it.
Looking Ahead: Expanding the Conversation
The Weltmuseum Wien plans to expand the “Kolonialismus am Fensterbrett” exhibition with a series of workshops and lectures exploring the broader themes of plant history, colonialism, and environmental justice. The museum is also developing online resources to make the exhibition accessible to a wider audience. Fine hopes the exhibition will spark conversations about the ongoing legacies of colonialism and the importance of recognizing our interconnectedness with the planet. The next scheduled event, a panel discussion on the ethics of botanical collections, is set for November 15th, according to the museum’s events calendar.
What do you think about the intersection of botany and colonial history? Share your thoughts in the comments below, and please share this article with others who might find it insightful.
