The Homegrown Cup
On the fairgrounds of Spannabis in 2015, I was working the booth of Exotic Seed, selling seeds to the masses. We shared our space with Soma Seeds and had a sunny spot right in the middle of the fair. In my opinion, it was the best spot we ever had there—outside, close to the food trucks—real handy during smoke filled afternoons…
The first artwork I did for the Homegrown Cup 2019
Two gentlemen approached the stand and started looking at the seed packs and other items we had for sale. When I shook their hands, I quickly found out they were fellow Dutchmen: Mauro and Rens. They told me about their idea to organise an event for home growers in the Netherlands—a big harvest celebration where the only attendees are the growers and the only judges are those same growers. No expert judge panels, no celebrity appearances, no BS. Just growers. An honest cup in every sense of the word, and a prize truly worth growing for. The winner can claim bragging rights for the year and the respect of their peers.
Over the years, I learned that this event isn’t about bragging rights or pumped-up egos. Rens and Mauro have created, for more than a decade now, a place where growers from all walks of life can come together, be themselves, and celebrate each other and the plant.
Back in 2015, the three of us had a friendly, energising conversation—it just clicked. They told me that one day they wanted me to design the poster for the event. Now, nearly ten years down the line, I’ve created well over ten posters for them, along with shirts, hoodies, and other items needed for the greatest cannabis cup in the world (in my humble Mossy opinion, of course). The event is judged by the craftsmen and growers themselves, with no influx of big paid sponsors who might nudge the final judgement and take home the prize. No—the growers smoke, smell, and try all the entries, and in the end they decide who takes home the marbles in best flower or extraction.
The Stay Home Corona Virus Edition 2022
For the first few years, I made the posters for this biannual event (an indoor and an outdoor edition) but never attended. Life simply didn’t allow me to make the drive down to Tilburg. In a sense, I was always present there through my art, and over time I learned that these skilled, green-thumbed home growers were growing fond of my work. Through Mauro, Rens, and the Homegrown Cup, I get to see a glimpse of Dutch and European home growing—not large-scale operations, but people who do it for the love of the plant. Small grows run from hidden attics, basements, garages; from tents to small indoor rooms; to outdoor greenhouses in backyards; to smart pots filled with living soil growing quietly across Holland and neighbouring countries. And for varied reasons, as one will read further in this article.
Rens kept telling me to come visit, to be present at one of these events. I’m very much to myself, and big crowds or events can be overwhelming. But I also understood that I need to reach out to the people and the culture I so happily portray in my work. Being an artist isn’t just creating art. A big part of the practice is meeting people, stepping out of the warmth of the studio, listening to their stories, and finding inspiration out in the field, on the road, on adventure.
I finally went—to the outdoor edition of 2022. I travelled to Tilburg and followed directions to the “secret” location. For those unfamiliar with cannabis and its growers: it’s illegal, and there are serious consequences if authorities find out about such an event. Silence and secrecy are part of the ecosystem. I arrived after dark. A heavy, thick fog covered the cobblestone driveway leading to an old Dutch community building. The place felt rustic and forgotten, and even though it was in Tilburg, it felt like the middle of nowhere—a perfect place to host 150 growers and their secret harvests.
The first ever weekender / Camping Edition 2023
I felt a vague nervousness walking in. I didn’t know what to expect, and in many ways I was an outsider—the artist allowed to peek behind the curtains of a culture known for secrecy, and for good reason. These folks grow a misunderstood plant, and every seed they put into soil is a quiet act of resistance against the powers that be. Every grow cycle brings the risk of losing one’s liberty—even in the Netherlands, where cannabis is tolerated in the most meagre sense but still far from legal.
I hit a wall of smoke when I stepped inside. Once my eyes and lungs adjusted, I saw rows of tables, around 150 stoned faces smiling and having a grand time judging each other’s harvests. Growers got up regularly to head to the old wooden bar for chocolate milk, grab a handful of candy, or pick up another freshly made stone-oven pizza. Music played, people chatted loudly, others sat quietly in their moment—stoned, content, surrounded by the fruits of a year’s labour. That day I fell even more in love with the Homegrown Cup—an event bringing together people who society often frowns upon and labels as criminals simply for growing a plant.
And let me be very clear: it is just a plant. No human being—whether in power or not—should decide whether another person may or may not grow a plant. Let alone decide whether one may or may not consume it. The only rule here should be: harm no one, respect the plant, the body, the mind, and society.
The Harvest Gnome 2023
We live in a reality where foolish, fear-driven, bigoted laws have created a thriving black market. Prohibition breeds criminal opportunity, and cannabis is no exception. Wherever there's money—legal or illegal—the dark side appears. So, it isn’t all kumbayah and fairy tales when I write, draw, or think about cannabis. It saddens me how misunderstood this plant is, how poorly portrayed by mainstream media, and how overlooked it is as an abundant, renewable resource. The problem has never been the plant—it’s the laws that prohibit it.
But back to the light…
What the Homegrown Cup has shown me over the years is the faces of the people who grow this plant—the bright side of cannabis, the part almost no one gets to see. I’ve met folks who grow because it’s the only thing that helps their loved ones heal. I’ve met patients who stopped going blind by treating glaucoma with a simple joint. I’ve met severely handicapped people, wheelchair-bound, who can live somewhat comfortably and pain-free thanks to cannabis—often after exhausting conventional medicine or suffering terrible side effects from pharmaceuticals. And yet, by using the only medicine that works for them, they live with a constant risk of losing their freedom.
The 2024 Outdoor Edition Scorecard
At the Homegrown Cup, I had the honour of meeting one such patient, Rien. His parents pushed him in his wheelchair over to the spot where I was painting live. We talked about art, about his life and condition, and about how cannabis allowed him to live with a little less pain. Rien brightened my day and reminded me why the pursuit of cannabis freedom is necessary—for him and for so many others. Rien has since passed away. He continues to inspire me. The Cup, the art, and the plant brought us together. Rest in peace, Rien.
I’ve met growers and patients at the Cup who, for the first time, could speak freely about their passion for the plant and their practice of growing it. For more than a decade, the Homegrown Cup has created a space where growers and cannabis lovers can step out of the darkness, into the light, and fully express themselves without judgement—quite the opposite, actually. That day they are celebrated. And some even get to hoist a trophy and be proud of growing the forbidden fruit.
2025 Indoor edition poster
Some might say I’m blowing this event out of proportion, but to me it brings together a secret, incredibly creative group of freedom fighters, caretakers, patients, and lovers of the plant—the high it gives, the therapy it offers, the gardening that heals. All participants are devoted to growing this plant. I’m thankful to be allowed a peek into this world, and to play a small part in it. And I’m grateful that the growers have embraced my work and can spot pieces of themselves in the Hippie, or maybe even the bear.
Many thanks to Mauro and Rens for giving me the chance to create the art and for opening a backdoor into this green culture.
In the end, all of this circles back to the quiet power of civil disobedience. Every seed planted in defiance of unjust laws, every grower who chooses care over fear, helps carve out the path toward a more humane future. Real change has always begun with ordinary people doing what they know is right long before the law catches up. These growers, patients, and caretakers are not just tending a plant—they’re shaping the future, one small act of courage at a time.
