One develops, over time, a certain appreciation for places where history, craft, and beauty converge with effortless grace. Think of the patina on a well-loved Stradivarius, the silent power of a Corbusier chaise, or the precise bloom of a Davidoff cigar. It is within such rarefied air that Luziah Hennessy’s sixth iteration of Art of the Treasure Hunt unfurls its petals this season.
Titled Gardens in My Dreams, this exquisite pursuit of aesthetic discovery takes root from June through October within the venerable stone walls of Castello di Brolio, nestled deep in the heart of Tuscany’s Chianti region. To wander these grounds, home to the Ricasoli dynasty since the era of mailed knights and illuminated manuscripts, is to tread upon centuries of cultivated splendour – a fitting stage for an exploration of the cultivated subconscious.
This is no mere garden party, though the setting could easily tempt one towards chilled Ruinart and idle chatter. Hennessy, with the discerning eye of a seasoned curator, has assembled eleven ‘visionary gardeners’ to tend the fertile soil of our sleeping minds. Their mediums are as diverse as dreams themselves: the molten alchemy of glass and ceramic, the cool permanence of marble, the vibrant whisper of paint and printed silk, the tangible presence of sculpture, and yes, even the ethereal code of artificial intelligence.
Refik Anadol, whose data-driven dreamscapes recently captivated the Serpentine Galleries, converses here with the meticulous, immersive botanical dioramas of Patrick Jacobs. Massimo Listri’s hauntingly precise architectural photography finds a counterpoint in the fluid, nature-infused canvases of Sam Falls. Apollonaire Broche, Pring Bunnag, Henrik Håkansson, Jonas Mekas (the late, lamented poet of everyday reverie), Aidan Salakhova, Amy Thai, and Alexandra Vertinskaya complete this international ensemble, each a distinct voice in this nocturne.
The concept is deliciously provocative: “Sleep is the medium of dreams.” How perfectly it frames our journey. These artists are not depicting literal gardens, per se, but rather the lush, often surreal landscapes that blossom unseen behind closed eyelids. It’s a theme ripe for the Tuscan hills, where the very air seems thick with inspiration, and the line between the tangible world and a kind of waking dream perpetually blurs. One recalls the Surrealists’ fascination with the hypnagogic state, or perhaps even the intricate dream-logic of a Borges tale – but rendered here with contemporary vigour and palpable texture.
Previous editions of this discerning treasure hunt unfolded within the equally hallowed cellars and villas of Chianti’s vinous aristocracy – Castello di Ama, Borgo San Felice, Colle Beretto, Felsina (which also features this season alongside Brolio), Villa Geggiano, and Volpaia. These are not simply picturesque backdrops; they are estates consistently achieving the oenophile’s nod of serious approval, their vintages reliably scoring 92 points and above. There’s a pleasing symmetry, isn’t there? The pursuit of the finest grapes mirroring the pursuit of the finest artistic expressions. One might sip a profound Chianti Classico Riserva from Brolio’s own vineyards, its structure and depth echoing the complexities unfolding in the sculpture nearby.
To experience Gardens in My Dreams is to be invited into a deeply personal, yet shared, reverie. It encourages unhurried meandering through Castello di Brolio’s own sun-dappled gardens and historic chambers, allowing each piece – be it Anadol’s AI-generated floral phantasmagoria or Vertinskaya’s delicate, evocative forms – to resonate. It’s a gentle reminder that true luxury lies not merely in possession, but in the cultivation of perception, in the quiet thrill of discovery, and in the shared understanding that the most fertile gardens often exist just beyond the edge of wakefulness. Consider it an essential pilgrimage for those who find equal solace in a perfectly composed still life, the architecture of Palladio, and the first, fragrant note of a truly exceptional wine. The treasure, as ever, awaits the discerning eye.
