Floating on the surface of the hospital walls, roots firmly embedded in the murk beneath, the water lilies unfold their leaves across the plaster. The blossoms collect in patches, mingling with mold to erupt into fantastic landscapes, some so colorful that they seem augmented by human hand. But no humans are needed here. In this moist and southern asylum, the exodus of patients has freed a thriving terrarium of decay. Throughout the corridors, fleshy walls feed waterscapes that undergo their own organic cycles of life and death. Once overripe, the lily pads stop clinging, taking chunks of plaster with them when they drop to the floor. Slowly the wall reveals the bright green lake beneath the leaves.