RECIPROCAL
SEEDS

An augmented reality
and video work 
by Jennifer Rainsford








The artwork is produced in conjunction with the synchothron research facility MAX IV’s Artist in Residence program, a collaboration between the research facility and Lund University’s Cultural Forum for Arts and Sciences with funding from the Gyllenstiernska Krapperup Foundation.

Credits:
Tomography scans:
ForMAX - MAX IV, Anuj Prajapati, Kim Nygård.
4D imaging lab - LTH, Stephen Hall.

Data processing and technical guidance:
InfraVis - Emanuel Larsson, Jonas Ahlstedt.
Linxs - Martin Stankovski
Sound data:
Nano max - MAX IV, Maik Kahnt, Karina Thånell.

Video effects and grade:
Nils Fridén / Velour film

Technical assistance AR:
Jakob Skote / Meadow

MAV IV coordination AIR - Heidi La Grasta

Other Partners:
Inter Arts center, Lund University,
Skissernas Museum,
CKD Kungl. Konsthögskolan,
NordGen Seed bank


Thank you:
Bodil Gesslein, Enico Artoni

SHARE THIS SITE:


responsible for site: Jennifer Rainsford  yukeiab(at)pm.me







The artwork is produced in conjunction with the synchothron research facility MAX IV’s Artist in Residence program, a collaboration between the research facility and Lund University’s Cultural Forum for Arts and Sciences with funding from the Gyllenstiernska Krapperup Foundation.

Credits:
Tomography scans:
ForMAX - MAX IV, Anuj Prajapati, Kim Nygård.
4D imaging lab - LTH, Stephen Hall.

Data processing and technical guidance:
InfraVis - Emanuel Larsson, Jonas Ahlstedt.
Linxs - Martin Stankovski
Sound data:
Nano max - MAX IV, Maik Kahnt, Karina Thånell.

Video effects and grade:
Nils Fridén / Velour film

Technical assistance AR:
Jakob Skote / Meadow

MAV IV coordination AIR - Heidi La Grasta

Other Partners:
Inter Arts center, Lund University,
Skissernas Museum,
CKD Kungl. Konsthögskolan,
NordGen Seed bank


Thank you:
Bodil Gesslein, Enico Artoni

SHARE THIS SITE:





RECIPROCAL

SEEDS

An augmented reality
and video work 
by Jennifer Rainsford






In the augmented reality work Reciprocal Seeds, a monolithic capsule volume floats above and around the MAX IV Synchrotron in Lund, Sweden — forty meters up in the air, accompanied by a low, deep humming sound. It can be seen only through a phone.

To view this experience in AR you need to first download the  Augumented Reality app  Meadow to your phone or tablet:


iPhone:
App Store

Android Play store

After downloading the app click here
or scan the QR-code and it will open the experience in the app.


Some Android users have reported a problem opening the link, if this is your case go straight to the android app and search for “reciprocal seeds”. 




In the augmented reality work Reciprocal Seeds, a monolithic capsule volume floats above and around the MAX IV Synchrotron in Lund, Sweden — forty meters up in the air, accompanied by a low, deep humming sound. It can be seen only through a phone.

To view this experience in AR you need to first download the  Augumented Reality app  Meadow to your phone or tablet:


iPhone:
App Store

Android Play store

After downloading the app click here
or scan the QR-code and it will open the experience in the app.




























RECIPROCAL SEEDS
An account for their observance and naming

The monoliths were observed on several occasions over several years. Seen only through handheld devices: A screen came to work like a portal into another layer of sight and could also be used as recorders.
The monoliths, in turn, appeared to be recording the activity around them. At first they were seen hovering above notable landmarks, the earliest over a particle accelerator in the Northern Hemisphere. Later, others appeared at a smaller size, seemingly adapted to the rooms and spaces that humans tend to occupy.


First observance  over the synchothron Max IV Lund Sweden.

Their presence was solemn: each a dark monolith with a reflective surface, rotating slowly as it hovered above the ground at a third of its own height. A low, dark hum sank from the larger monoliths; a brighter, thinner tone rose from the smaller.

Their origin was never settled. Some believed them to be sensors from an outer cosmic population; others, holograms conjured by our own learning machines. The larger structures could at least be corroborated by aerial laser-mapping technology, independently of any handheld screen — though one could argue that this too was a technology humanity had built for itself and therefore could be manipulated.

When they reappeared the following year, their behaviour proved cyclic, closely mimicking that of a seed. They arrived full in texture with the first light of the summer solstice, persisted through the warmer months of the northern hemisphere and, as the winter solstice drew near, vanished — dried and brittle, much as a seed looks in the depths of winter. Some called for the wider sky to be scanned for cosmic flowers, though the notion, and the resources it would demand, seemed rather absurd.



One of the smaller specimens, size smaller than a human.  

Their inner structures resembled the memory capsules of the plant world: seeds, particularly airborne ones.* Having collected several of the smaller specimens, the structural elements one would expect of an ordinary seed were identified: a testa, shielding the inner structures from mechanical damage, and an endosperm-like tissue surrounding embryo-like structures — radicle, hypocotyl, epicotyl, and cotyledons.




Tomography scan of inner structure,  testa, endosperm, radicle, hypocotyl, epicotyl, and cotyledons.

No magnetic disturbances were connected to them, nor any correlation with solar storms or cosmic radiation,
and in the months they remained no immediate danger was identified. Yet they appeared in an era when perceived threat** was already running high: the Earth’s internal conflicts, a widely shared expectation of economic scarcity, and climate change. Factions already primed for conflict called their arrival an invasion. Critics of that view asked a different question: what could any outsider possibly want from a species already at war with itself?

To this day there is no satisfactory answer as to why they appeared, nor what their purpose might be. On account of their resemblance to seeds, and their peculiar ability to appear within a space that was virtual, reciprocal,*** and yet somehow load-bearing on the real, they were given a name: Reciprocal Seeds.

* When their structure was compared with known seeds, the closest match proved to be the wind-dispersed seed of Solidago canadensis, Canadian goldenrod: a pioneer species, hardy and resilient, of the sort that arrives first in places where life has been wiped away —like  a volcanic wasteland, a tsunami-struck coastline, cracked tarmac. It thrives where other plants cannot, gradually breaking down stone, enriching the soil, and laying the foundation for whatever follows. In the spring of 2026 it was, rather fittingly, also classified as invasive in Sweden.

** A subjective belief or expectation that a negative, harmful, or undesirable outcome will occur, regardless of whether the danger in question is in fact real.

*** Reciprocal space is a concept from crystallography and diffraction physics. When X-rays (or electrons or neutrons) scatter off a material’s atomic structure, the resulting diffraction pattern is not a direct image of the object but a map of its spatial frequencies — in effect the Fourier transform of the physical structure, although only the intensities are recorded and the phases are lost. That map exists in what is called reciprocal space: not a “place” one could stand in, but a mathematical space in which each point encodes information about periodicities and structure back in real space. To obtain an image one could recognise, such as a seed, the lost phases must be recovered and the data transformed back out of reciprocal space into real space.

.




Video documentation at Max IV on midsummer solstice 2026


RECIPROCAL SEEDS
An account for their observance and naming

The monoliths were observed on several occasions over several years, visible only through handheld devices. These screens became portals into another layer of sight, serving simultaneously as recorders.

The monoliths, in turn, appeared to be recording the activity around them. At first they were seen hovering above notable landmarks, the earliest over a particle accelerator in the northern hemisphere. Later, others appeared at a smaller size, seemingly adapted to the rooms and spaces that humans tend to occupy.


First observance  over the synchothron Max IV Lund Sweden.

Their presence was solemn: each a dark monolith with a reflective surface, rotating slowly as it hovered above the ground at a third of its own height. A low, dark hum sank from the larger monoliths; a brighter, thinner tone rose from the smaller.

Their origin was never settled. Some believed them to be sensors from an outer cosmic population; others, holograms conjured by our own learning machines. The larger structures could at least be corroborated by aerial laser-mapping technology, independently of any handheld screen, though one could argue that this too was a technology humanity had built for itself and therefore could be manipulated.

When they reappeared the following year, their behaviour proved cyclic, closely mimicking that of a seed. They arrived full in texture with the first light of the summer solstice, persisted through the warmer months of the northern hemisphere and, as the winter solstice drew near, vanished, dried and brittle, much as a seed looks in the depths of winter. Some called for the wider sky to be scanned for cosmic flowers, though the notion, and the resources it would demand, seemed rather absurd.



One of the smaller specimens, size smaller than a human.  

Their inner structures resembled the memory capsules of the plant world: seeds, particularly airborne ones.* Having collected several of the smaller specimens, the structural elements one would expect of an ordinary seed were identified: a testa, shielding the inner structures from mechanical damage, and an endosperm-like tissue surrounding embryo-like structures; radicle, hypocotyl, epicotyl, and cotyledons.




Tomography scan of inner structure,  testa, endosperm, radicle, hypocotyl, epicotyl, and cotyledons.

No magnetic disturbances were connected to them, nor any correlation with solar storms or cosmic radiation, and in the months they remained no immediate danger was identified. Yet they appeared in an era when perceived threat** was already running high: the Earth’s internal conflicts, a widely shared expectation of economic scarcity, and climate change. Factions already primed for conflict called their arrival an invasion. Critics of that view asked a different question: what could any outsider possibly want from a species already at war with itself?

To this day there is no satisfactory answer as to why they appeared, nor what their purpose might be. On account of their resemblance to seeds, and their peculiar ability to appear within a space that was virtual, reciprocal,*** and yet somehow load-bearing on the real, they were given a name: Reciprocal Seeds.

* When their structure was compared with known seeds, the closest match proved to be the wind-dispersed seed of Solidago canadensis, Canadian goldenrod: a pioneer species, hardy and resilient, of the sort that arrives first in places where life has been wiped away; like  a volcanic wasteland, a tsunami-struck coastline, cracked tarmac. It thrives where other plants cannot, gradually breaking down stone, enriching the soil, and laying the foundation for whatever follows. In the spring of 2026 it was, rather fittingly, also classified as invasive in Sweden.

** A subjective belief or expectation that a negative, harmful, or undesirable outcome will occur, regardless of whether the danger in question is in fact real.

*** Reciprocal space is a concept from crystallography and diffraction physics. When X-rays (or electrons or neutrons) scatter off a material’s atomic structure, the resulting diffraction pattern is not a direct image of the object but a map of its spatial frequencies; in effect the Fourier transform of the physical structure, although only the intensities are recorded and the phases are lost. That map exists in what is called reciprocal space: not a “place” one could stand in, but a mathematical space in which each point encodes information about periodicities and structure back in real space. To obtain an image one could recognise, such as a seed, the lost phases must be recovered and the data transformed back out of reciprocal space into real space.

.