Hardly any plant can be said to reveal its greatest effect in the shade – but this is true for the fern in a double sense: As a remnant of prehistoric times, it grows in low-light gardens and forests, and deep within the Earth, sediments have pressed it into coal and oil over millions of years, the burning of which poses a far greater threat to human survival today than to its own. The reproduction of these secretly propagating plants has long been the subject of various speculations. Magical properties are attributed to their seeds: that they teach one the language of animals and that those who encounter the devil can still redeem themselves with them.

In spring, it is always fascinating to see how each frond unfolds individually along the spindle, revealing its fractal arrangement, which is considered a sign of absolute beauty – and likely contributed to the fern fever in Victorian England: a passion for the excessive collection and cultivation of these wondrous plants, the creation of fern gardens in tenement buildings and asylums, and not least the import of exotic species from around the world.

Following the traces of these legendary bearers of secrets, Solvejg Nitzke explores old cemeteries, secret gardens, and the backyard of her home in Dresden. The result is an illuminating portrait of a shade-loving plant that can no longer overlook those who have once bent down to it.