NYBG: ORCHID SHOW 2026

From 2013-2018, I went to the New York Botanical Garden’s annual Orchid Show six years in a row. Only a few of the shows were loosely themed: 2017’s Thailand; Dale Chihuly’s curving glass sculptures dotted the garden’s grounds in 2018, but only one of them appears in my photos from the conservatory; I didn’t go in 2019, but the theme was similarly inconspicuous (Singapore).

Have you ever seen thousands of orchids thriving up close? They’re magical. They’re improbable. They’re downright spiritual. Some of them look like slippers and others give off a sweet scent like living chocolate bars. They are the ultimate anecdote to AI: designed by actual intelligence, animated by a mysterious lifeforce, and cultivated by human hands. I love a good theme, but I have never once left the show wanting for a singular thread to tie it all together or wishing for extraneous set pieces to distract from the orchids’ other-worldly beauty.

This year, however, the garden put the show’s pollen-covered reins into the gloved hands of Mr. Flower Fantastic, described in official press interviews as “one of the most in-demand floral artists in the world.” MFF is a pseudonym for a Queens-born graffiti artist who transitioned into making “bold, sculptural works that blend art, fashion, and pop culture,” entirely out of flowers; his resume is undeniably impressive, including clients such as Serena Williams, Nike, and Netflix.

In photos, MFF is shown among the garden’s orchids, wearing a black hat, jacket, and goggles. He dons latex gloves and a respirator due to a severe flower allergy and to allow “the focus to stay on the art rather than the artist.” I would argue that his steampunk, Banksy-like aesthetic feels tired and actually does the exact opposite. Which might be a good thing: I had high expectations for this year’s show—billed as “a vibrant celebration of New York City and the extraordinary beauty that can bloom in even the most unexpected places”—but I was disappointed.

Even if the show’s ungainly official title, The Orchid Show: Mr. Flower Fantastic’s Concrete Jungle, still technically gives orchids top billing, it also makes clear that this year’s installation has been curated by a Famous Artist. Jockeying for the spotlight within MFF’s concrete-less jungle, the delicate, diminutive orchids put up a good fight—but everything that was built around them feels fantastically flat.

The first piece you see upon entering the always-dazzling Enid Haupt Conservatory, is a brownstone covered in orchids. Or maybe it’s the second, or tenth thing you notice; I wouldn’t be surprised if you missed this show-opener entirely. Set in the middle of a small pond, the monochromatic brownstone (which here is rendered pitch black, as are most of the other set pieces in the show) disappears almost completely behind a cascade of colorful orchids. And maybe that’s the point! I understand how contrast works. If you want to let the flowers shine, slathering everything in matte black paint is a good way to do so. 

But smoothing out any ounce of originality or grit from objects and places that appear in infinite variations across the five boroughs—including trash cans, a Dumpster, fire escape, car wash, pizza parlor, and laundromat—is a weird way to celebrate a city as artistically fruitful city as New York. I was prepared to look for “beauty in unexpected places,” I just didn’t think the places themselves would be so devoid of character.

As you work your way around the conservatory, the set pieces and accompanying signage feel increasingly cheap, like 3D-printed, Temu-knock-off versions of their real life counterparts better suited for a Hollywood backlot version of “The Big Apple” than in a flower show set in the actual city of New York. I can almost guarantee that there are high school productions of West Side Story being staged in the Midwest right now with more authentic sets. 

At best, the installations recede into the background and cede attention back on the orchids: My uncle went with me, said he ignored the New York theme completely, and enjoyed himself. At their most unforgivable, MFF’s creations were too complex to interplay with orchids at all—or lazily designed that way: Oversize pizza slices, an orange-and-white striped steam tube, and the back half of a lifesize cab (bearing the license plate ORCH1D) are covered in (fake!) carnations. 

Forgive me for being literal, but I come to the orchid show to see orchids, and I came to this show specifically to see orchids set amongst “a dazzling reimagining of the Big Apple, from stoops and slice shops to the subway itself.” I suppose the “reimagining” part is technically correct, but I wish MFF had more imagination, particularly with the signage. His newsstand, slice shop, laundromat, and car wash are saddled with uninspired names and signs to match (particularly unforgivable in a city that includes generations of free graphic inspiration and a newly-opened museum dedicated to preserving it). 

They’re not only visually boring, but he also could have used a better copywriter. Some of the floral puns are better than others: a soda case contains Sprout (aka Sprite, cute) but also a headscratching variation of Diet Coke called “Natural Orchid” (what?). Inflation has yet to hit Fantastic’s Pizzeria, where slices are 99 cents and come with appetizing toppings such as Dendrobium Stems and Cymbidium Tubers. (A disclaimer warns that not all orchids are edible, but doesn’t specify further).

Conversely, the machines in Fantastic Laundromat “cost” $5 and direct visitors to scan a QR code to learn more about the orchids peaking out from behind round windows. This isn’t a criticism unique to the garden unfortunately, but the last thing I want to do—especially when I’m in a conservatory full of extraordinary live plants—is be tethered to my phone. (I’d take a visually dull explanatory placard over none at all).

I promise I am not a pearl-clutching white person aghast that a Black graffiti artist was let loose on one of New York’s sacred spaces. I wanted more graffiti. More proof of life. Something messy and imprecise as an anecdote to the perfection of the orchids. The Dumpster and trash cans felt too pristine. The familiar-but-faux scaffolding devoid of any stickers, sharpie tags, or layers of old wheatpasted posters. There is just one nod to MFF’s previous life as a graffiti artist: the tag MFF spelled out in (more fake) flowers affixed to a subway “tile” wall in the “Orchid Avenue” stop. 

MFF says that his show is an homage to two Jamaicas: the one in Queens, where he grew up, and the island where his ancestors were from. With respect to residents of both, I don’t think the show does a good job of transporting visitors to either. And I wanted it to do so, badly! 

I can’t blame the garden—I understand why they fell for MFF’s pitch. But in a city full of so many underemployed artists, I’m annoyed that garden officials chose this particular capital A Arteest, who has the nerve to call himself “Mr. Flower Fantastic,” (too literal, even for me) while delivering a show where the only fantastic moments are delivered by the thing he seems to had little to do with: the (real) flowers themselves.