Artist in Residence at Art In the Park
Nov. 1, 2025 - Nov. 1, 2026
Over the course of a year at Art in the Park, Lucia Fabio will build and tend a garden that emphasizes ancestral knowledge of seed collection, while collecting oral histories pertaining to seeds and growing cycles. Fabio’s parents are immigrants from Longi, a small mountain village in Sicily, where generations of her family have lived in close relationship to the land. By focusing on germinating her late mother’s seeds, Fabio will explore her family’s ancestral growing practices. The garden will allow her to heal, learn and share knowledge while creating space for others to do the same. By saving seeds today, we guarantee that future generations will be able to connect to the past.
The residency will be dictated by the lunar planting calendar—a traditional and ancient agricultural guide based on the phases of the moon used by many cultures as a natural timekeeping method. Programming will include garden days, seed distributions, workshops, and conversations. At the end of the year, the garden will become a permanent fixture and continue to grow and adapt to the needs of the community around AITP. The culmination of the residency will result in an exhibition that will present Fabio’s research and incorporate works by artists who use plants as a means to connect to their ancestors and create bridges to the future.
This residency was inspired by the loving memory of Giovanna Fabio, Irma Goetz, Bertha Sosa and all mothers who have left this realm. We tend to and nurture seeds for the next generation in honor of mothers and everyone who came before.
The residency will be dictated by the lunar planting calendar—a traditional and ancient agricultural guide based on the phases of the moon used by many cultures as a natural timekeeping method. Programming will include garden days, seed distributions, workshops, and conversations. At the end of the year, the garden will become a permanent fixture and continue to grow and adapt to the needs of the community around AITP. The culmination of the residency will result in an exhibition that will present Fabio’s research and incorporate works by artists who use plants as a means to connect to their ancestors and create bridges to the future.
This residency was inspired by the loving memory of Giovanna Fabio, Irma Goetz, Bertha Sosa and all mothers who have left this realm. We tend to and nurture seeds for the next generation in honor of mothers and everyone who came before.
Please click here to download a pdf of selected projects.
Recent work in Botanical Readiness Vol.1 Spring unto Summer, 2024
From Seed to Earth
Recent work in Botanical Readiness Vol.1 Spring unto Summer, 2024
From Seed to Earth
Excerpt:
In the outdoor space of 4529 Homer St, Los Angeles, CA
This garden.
My garden.
But it was never mine.
I used to think I had control, but the more that I relinquish, the more I see complex relationships between the multitudes of creatures who reside on this tiny plot of land.
The garden is a pedagogical site. Even though many would consider me a seasoned gardener, I feel like a student when I tend to the Earth. I’ve given up on the idea of a designed space— nothing is manicured on this plot of land. But that’s what I am finding to be so much more interesting: the garden is an active space where many of the decisions are not made by me. Instead, it is the insects, birds, mammals, reptiles, fungi and plants who decide whom will thrive and survive, and whom will perish for the benefit of the other community members (even though I do not agree when my vegetables are the ones who succumb to disease or are eaten for the betterment of an invasive insect).
We as humans spend very little time in these garden spaces. We are used to controlled environments: those that shelter us from cold and heat, rain and sleet, intense sun and moisture. Even though we “own” or “occupy” these properties, we spend very little of our time outside on them.
The opossum I saw saunter down the driveway and through the gate knows the yard more intimately than I do. His livelihood depends on, it whereas for me it is a place of pleasure. Two baby opossums have taken to eating the loquats outside the studio. They only know the flavor of the ripe fruit. Out in the middle of the day, I assume their mother has either abandoned them or was killed. This garden is their nursery. And even though I see the unripe fruits perish under their ravenous mouths, I can’t bear to remove them.
But as the days pass, they are still emerging during daylight. They? Or is it just one now? A trap is set and a sole tiny creature drops into a bucket. It is taken to an opossum rehabilitator who will make sure she will be strong enough to be released into a more habitable environment.
I’m still unsure if this was the correct decision. Could she have survived if she was left within the confines of the garden? Or would her death have supported another’s life? I am well aware that my actions in the garden impact many more lives than I could fathom.
And so, I continue to learn and observe from all of these creatures as I attempt to facilitate an equitable situation. There was once a lack of life since the backyard was completely concreted over. It took years and many hours of work to remove the cement crust and to exposure the Earth below it. As plants began to sprout from the soil, all sorts of critters and organisms began to nest in the space. I assisted this transformation by letting the soil make contact with the air, which has created an increasingly active garden. I am forever in awe of the numerous creatures who I have the pleasure of encountering and will continue my deep observation of their impacts on this communal habitat.
In the outdoor space of 4529 Homer St, Los Angeles, CA
This garden.
My garden.
But it was never mine.
I used to think I had control, but the more that I relinquish, the more I see complex relationships between the multitudes of creatures who reside on this tiny plot of land.
The garden is a pedagogical site. Even though many would consider me a seasoned gardener, I feel like a student when I tend to the Earth. I’ve given up on the idea of a designed space— nothing is manicured on this plot of land. But that’s what I am finding to be so much more interesting: the garden is an active space where many of the decisions are not made by me. Instead, it is the insects, birds, mammals, reptiles, fungi and plants who decide whom will thrive and survive, and whom will perish for the benefit of the other community members (even though I do not agree when my vegetables are the ones who succumb to disease or are eaten for the betterment of an invasive insect).
We as humans spend very little time in these garden spaces. We are used to controlled environments: those that shelter us from cold and heat, rain and sleet, intense sun and moisture. Even though we “own” or “occupy” these properties, we spend very little of our time outside on them.
The opossum I saw saunter down the driveway and through the gate knows the yard more intimately than I do. His livelihood depends on, it whereas for me it is a place of pleasure. Two baby opossums have taken to eating the loquats outside the studio. They only know the flavor of the ripe fruit. Out in the middle of the day, I assume their mother has either abandoned them or was killed. This garden is their nursery. And even though I see the unripe fruits perish under their ravenous mouths, I can’t bear to remove them.
But as the days pass, they are still emerging during daylight. They? Or is it just one now? A trap is set and a sole tiny creature drops into a bucket. It is taken to an opossum rehabilitator who will make sure she will be strong enough to be released into a more habitable environment.
I’m still unsure if this was the correct decision. Could she have survived if she was left within the confines of the garden? Or would her death have supported another’s life? I am well aware that my actions in the garden impact many more lives than I could fathom.
And so, I continue to learn and observe from all of these creatures as I attempt to facilitate an equitable situation. There was once a lack of life since the backyard was completely concreted over. It took years and many hours of work to remove the cement crust and to exposure the Earth below it. As plants began to sprout from the soil, all sorts of critters and organisms began to nest in the space. I assisted this transformation by letting the soil make contact with the air, which has created an increasingly active garden. I am forever in awe of the numerous creatures who I have the pleasure of encountering and will continue my deep observation of their impacts on this communal habitat.