The work draws inspiration from Sir Samuel White Baker’s 1879 account, Cyprus, as I Saw It in 1879¹, in which he presents a personal exploration of the island. Through his narrative, Baker offers a rich tapestry of observations on the island’s geography, landscape, history, and political climate following its British colonization. His portrayal of Cyprus is one of stark austerity—a land bereft of trees, barren, and desperately in need of water. Baker evokes complex political, cultural, and even anthropological associations between the local Muslim and Christian Cypriot communities, their connection to the land, and the imposition of colonial rule. His meticulous descriptions of the indigenous flora—shrubs, plants, and trees—are juxtaposed against his observations of the island’s soil, at times rich and fertile, yet often dry and unforgiving. Baker also comments on the construction of the newly established Governor’s House in Nicosia, and Sir Garnet Wolseley’s (the first High Commissioner to Cyprus) endeavor to “transform the treeless surface” by planting vast groves of eucalyptus trees and date palms.

In addition to Baker’s accounts, Red Soil, Upon Which Tender Plants are Grown, references a number of historical and archival documents^2, as well as photographic collections³  in investigating the construction of the first Governor’s House in Nicosia in 1878, set against the backdrop of British colonial rule. Seeking an imposing location, Sir Wolseley selected a hill outside the city walls—dubbed “Vipers’ Hill”⁴—on which to construct what became prefabricated house in Cyprus. Originally intended for Sri Lanka, the structure, shipped by the British War Office, was diverted to Cyprus upon arrival in Egypt, as it was no longer needed there. In 1931, during the Greek Cypriot revolt (Oktovriana) against British colonial oppression, the wooden building was set ablaze, leaving only its front stone façade standing. The house was subsequently rebuilt between 1932 and 1937, combining Gothic, Ottoman, and Byzantine architectural styles to reflect the island’s diverse cultural heritage —a deliberate act of political diplomacy by the British. Today, the structure serves as the Presidential Palace of the Republic of Cyprus.

Drawing from these historical events, Lambouris crafts a semi-fictional narrative surrounding Costas Christoforou, a skilled stonemason from Kaimakli who worked as a sculptor during the construction of the second Governor’s House. Through Charles Santon’s transcriptions of his conversations with Christoforou, we learn that, alongside producing intricate stone friezes according to British specifications, Christoforou produced his own personal artwork meticulously carving botanical motifs on stone. These motifs, inspired by the island’s native flora, reflect not only his personal reverence for Cyprus’s landscape but also offer a subtle commentary on the colonial imposition that sought to alter the land through the introduction of foreign plant species, in an effort to "fertilize" the landscape.

At the heart of Lambouris’ interpretation is an archival photograph from 1877, sourced from the British National Archives, which captures the very hill where the Governor’s House was to be constructed. Baker described this hill as a “dreary plain with some flat-topped hills.” This image, re-imagined through AI technology, offers an alternate vision—a lush, vibrant landscape as envisioned by Christoforou. Drawing on Christoforou’s detailed drawings, notes, archival records, and surviving stone friezes, Lambouris re-traces this vernacular romantic view of the island, creating a visual assembly of botanical friezes, photographic records and scultural objects, that offers a new narrative challenging historical perceptions of the Cypriot landscape.