Propagation, Painting, and Good Luck

A couple of months ago, I tried to propagate my plant for the first time. It’s a tiny Pilea Peperomiodies aka a Chinese money plant that I’ve had for about a year. I decided to get a plant because I thought that my space was in need of an energy to help balance all of the other elements in my room. I’ve been getting more into the concepts of Feng Shui lately, which detail the relations between the elements; fire, earth, metal, water, and wood. After reading some, I felt that my space lacked the wood element— the element for growth and liveliness.

Although I’m a collector of many things already, none of them change or require any attention at all. Everything could be left alone for however long and the only difference would be the amount of dust. A thought that almost became claustrophobic— there’s nothing here that’s reaching for more.

However, now I have a plant! It’s possible I’m easily amazed, but it is amazing to me. I love the process of tracking its growth, watching its bright green leaves stretch and move towards the sun, when it dramatically perks up again after being watered, and when a new leaf pops up, especially after recently losing one. It felt like there was this lively animated energy that started pulsing, giving everything around it a good shake to wake up.

Of course it was in need of a name and so it became known as the 8, named after the Kpop idol Xu Minghao from the group Seventeen whose stage name is the 8— a great honor. The number 8 is also considered a lucky number in Chinese culture, which I thought added to the good fit. This plant grew a strong place in me that continued to strengthen with the sight of each of the plant’s new signature coin-shaped leaves growing in. Having the 8 around made me optimistic and more keen to accept good fortune.

Pilea Peperomiodies are pretty easy to care for and also very easy to propagate, a characteristic that drew me to this particular plant. I was excited to see how this luck would begin to multiply and grow.

And so an opportunity to test this luck presented itself. I’d been eyeing a certain leaf that looked like it may have been ready to go and I thought maybe I would try to propagate it, just to see. Eagerly, I took up an x-acto knife, certain to try to get a little bit of the base of the leaf stem that I was instructed is important for it to grow its own roots a few moments before in a video and— uh oh. The slice was a lot more smooth than I had expected and was followed by the sight of falling coin-shaped leaves as if items dropping from your inventory when you die in a video game. I didn’t cut all of the way through the stem, but nearly so, and the 8 was left leaning on its side. The only option was to finish the job.

Now completely cut off from the stem, I worked quickly and put him into a souvenir shot glass of water. This was also the time in which I was finishing up a painting of the 8 that now may be a memorial project. I felt too buried in irony to even be sad about anything, maybe too shocked at the speed in which things can change. I realized the real challenge now would be a test of patience and to continue painting anyways. It was too soon to even say if it was fully dead— the only option was to wait and move forward.

However, to my amazement, after a few days of silence, the 8 had already grown new roots in his little life support shot glass and they began growing exponentially. During this time, I came home everyday with childlike wonder to see how much more the roots had grown. Beforehand, working on my painting was upsetting; I seemingly killed the subject I was trying to capture with so much adoration, but a new perspective emerged as I watched it continue to grow back seemingly by the hour.

I imagined that my painting was a propagation of the 8. I thought about the roots growing back of the actual plant and felt that my painting was also beginning to emerge, building up until eventually it was no longer a cutting or a copy but took life as a plant of its own. Another nickname for the pilea is the friendship plant since it is so easy to propagate and share with others and I felt that this is what I wanted for my painting; something to share, something to lighten up a space, something that can regrow and adapt.

It’s unfortunate that my actual attempt of propagating seemed to be a failure, yet the experience was filled with more than I expected. Maybe another day I’ll try it again with a steadier hand. But the idea of this source of good luck and how to grow it and multiply it has stuck with me the most. In first deciding to get the 8, I was craving a sense of movement that could grow and make me feel more connected with what’s around me. It brought out this liveliness and care in me, a willingness to keep moving forward— one that I didn’t end up manifesting into another plant, but did find itself taking root in my brushstrokes.

Now, my lucky plant has been replanted in soil for about a month and is once gain reaching for the sun! It’s hard to convey the rollercoaster it felt like while waiting to see if he would make it or not. Finishing my painting at the time was like nurturing whatever luck was left back to life. Although my painting isn’t living, I hope it can bring the same energy to its surroundings, which I think it already did for the 8.