From outlaw floating gardens to pirate legend, an anarchic world ferments, blossoms, and blooms through an imagined modern fragment of Ching Shih’s life.

Plums, thrown on the ground. Crushed. They too will ferment, blossom and bloom
The Floating Gardens of Madam Wu takes its name from the floating settlements that lined the waterways of early nineteenth-century China—spaces untethered from land, nation, and law. Despite their poetic name, these gardens were anarchic worlds in motion: drifting architectures of survival where trade, pleasure, violence, and refuge coexisted. Outside legal jurisdiction, they became autonomous systems, generating their own economies and codes, invisible yet essential to the mainland they shadowed.
From within this unstable ecology emerged Ching Shih, raised among these floating communities and later known as the most powerful pirate of her time. Her story is not presented here as biography, but as transformation: a life shaped by precarity, mobility, and negotiation with power. The work imagines her rise as inseparable from the environment that formed her—an outlaw world where marginality became a source of agency, and disorder a condition for reinvention.
Seen through a contemporary lens, The Floating Gardens of Madam Wu, Butler in collaboration with I-Chen Zuffellato reads these histories as metaphors for cycles of decay and emergence. Images of fermentation, crushing, and bloom recur as quiet forces of change—what is discarded gathers potency, what is broken transforms. Like plums fallen to the ground, these submerged histories continue to work beneath the surface, generating futures that exceed their origins. “Plums, thrown on the ground. Crushed. They too will ferment, blossom and bloom”.











The Flower Boat Song
They planted me in a distant land,
Strange Men
Came to water me.
Day and night till
My blossoms turned to fruit.
Day and night till
(choir) Plums.
(choir) Thrown on the ground.
Crushed.
I harvested them,
Secret by secret
Fermenting
Slowing turned to wine.
Poured down their throats
Their eyes closed
Their sweaty lips pursed.
Drunk.
Day and night till
(choir) Plums.
(choir) Thrown on the ground.
Crushed.
I slit their throats.
Blood to feed the fruit trees in the orchard.
Sowed their wild oats
Blood to feed the other fruit trees in the sea.
More plums will grow,
Fatter
Juicer.
In time
They’ll be ripe
Unbound
They too will ferment
And blossom and bloom.
Text Martin Butler 2022