The first mature Anthurium veitchii I mounted came down on a Tuesday. I know it was Tuesday because I'd watered Monday night, and by morning the whole rig — plant, slab, four lag bolts — was lying in a wet arc across the floor of the spare room, the longest leaf folded like a closed fan against the baseboard. The cork hadn't failed. The wall anchor hadn't failed. The plant had simply gotten heavier than I'd planned for, and the moment of failure was the moment the moss took on its full saturated weight at four in the morning.
I tell this story to anyone who asks about mounting, because the romance of the practice — the slab of weathered hardwood, the velvet leaf cantilevered into the room — collapses the instant you weigh a soaked sphagnum pillow holding a fifteen-pound root mass. Mounting mature aroids is not decoration. It is a small engineering problem with a living component, and the rig has to outlive the plant's next two years of growth.