I’m Still Learning How to Grow These Things

Hundreds of plants later, I’ve learned more than I ever have and enough to know I still have a lot to learn. A field note about Anthuriums, experimentation, expensive electric bills, and taking the leap before you have everything figured out.

So wow……

I think it’s been about two years now since I became an official plant collector.

And by “official,” I mean somewhere along the way buying plants turned into collecting plants, collecting turned into hunting for particular plants, and then apparently I adopted a slightly dangerous “gotta catch ’em all” mentality.

Things escalated.

There are now plants everywhere.

And after all of that, I have a confession:

I still don’t completely know what I’m doing.

I know a lot more than I did two years ago. I know more than the average person walking into a plant shop. People actually ask me questions about plants now—which still feels slightly bizarre.

But have I figured all of this out?

Absolutely not.

I struggle with plants.

I’ve killed plants.

I’ve watched a leaf emerge looking absolutely incredible and then somehow watched the next one come out looking like it had a very difficult childhood.

And Anthurium? Oh, Anthurium will humble you.

There is, apparently, no instruction manual.

I’ve experimented with fertilizers. Additives. Substrates. Lighting. Humidity. Watering schedules. Different combinations of all of the above.

Some experiments have been incredible.

Others?

Ummmmmm…… yeah.

I don’t know.

There are currently three humidifiers throwing mist around my apartment for most of the day. They require constant attention. Grow lights are everywhere. Fans are running. Plants have migrated into locations based partially on environmental conditions and partially because I like certain ones more and therefore want them closer to me.

Yes, I said it.

I absolutely have favorites.

And yes, my electric bill looks CRAZY.

I’m being honest.

But I committed to this strange little jungle I’ve created in Harlem, and I went all in.

That’s probably the part I’m most proud of.

Not that I’ve perfected it.

That I committed to learning it.

The uncomfortable part of knowing more

The funny thing about learning is that the more I understand about plants, the more aware I become of everything I don’t understand.

There was probably a point when I knew considerably less and felt considerably more confident.

Now?

I can look at a plant and start thinking about light. Humidity. Roots. Substrate. Nutrients. Genetics. Water quality. pH. Airflow. Whether I’m overthinking all of those things simultaneously……

And then I’ll look around the plant community at growers whose collections I deeply respect.

They know.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

But sometimes I wonder……

Do they?????

Maybe that’s the secret nobody really talks about.

Maybe the best growers aren’t people who eventually discover the perfect formula.

Maybe they’re just people who became very good at paying attention.

I’m still figuring that out.

And then Anthurium happened.

I actually started this journey heavily interested in Philodendron, Monstera and plenty of other genera—and I still love them.

But Anthurium did something different to my brain.

They’re complicated.

Unpredictable.

Sometimes dramatic.

Sometimes frustrating.

And ridiculously beautiful.

Basically…… perfect for me.

There is something about waiting for a new Anthurium leaf that still hasn’t gotten old.

You can know the parents.

You can know the genetics.

You can know what the previous leaves looked like.

You can stare at the emerging leaf every morning like a lunatic.

And you still don’t completely know what you’re going to get.

That’s especially fascinating with hybrids.

Two plants can be crossed and suddenly you’re waiting months or years to see which characteristics show up, which disappear, and which completely unexpected traits emerge.

For someone with an artist’s brain, that’s intoxicating.

You’re influencing the outcome without ever completely controlling it.

Maybe that’s why Anthurium pulled me in so deeply.

There’s always an unknown.

And I’ve always loved the unknown.

So why Plant Gallery?

I’ve thought about this a lot.

Because there’s a vulnerable part of creating Plant Gallery that I don’t think I’ve talked about much.

I want to be respected within the plant community.

I do.

I’ve spent years developing my voice as an artist and earning respect for the work I’ve created through ARTBYJCON. Plants are different. This is a newer world for me.

And there are people in this community who have been growing far longer than I have.

People whose knowledge I admire.

Growers I learn from.

Breeders whose work fascinates me.

Collectors whose plants make me stare at my phone and immediately start researching something I absolutely do not need to buy.

So creating Plant Gallery doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly decided I’ve mastered horticulture.

Quite the opposite.

Plant Gallery exists because I fell deeply enough into this world that I wanted to contribute something of my own to it.

My eye.

My curiosity.

My experiences.

My plants.

My mistakes.

My successes.

And eventually, hopefully, some extraordinary plants that exist because of the crosses and experiments happening right here in this little Harlem jungle.

That’s exciting to me.

It’s also terrifying.

But I’ve learned something about myself long before plants entered the picture:

I’d rather try.

I’d rather take the leap and discover where it leads than spend years wondering what would have happened if I had trusted myself enough to start.

Because eventually, all of this ends.

We don’t get to take the plants with us.

We don’t take the paintings.

We don’t take the money.

And we certainly don’t get to take all of those ideas we kept locked inside our heads because we were waiting until we felt qualified enough, prepared enough or certain enough to pursue them.

So I’m trying.

I’m learning.

I’m growing some incredible plants.

I’m occasionally growing some questionable-looking plants.

I’m probably spending too much money on electricity.

And I’m building Plant Gallery while I’m still figuring some of this out.

Maybe that’s exactly how it’s supposed to happen.

I don’t know where this goes yet.

Let’s see.

— Javon

Plant Gallery, Harlem