Maundy Thursday

the thursday before easter

we spent a whole day in anyone’s garden

observing our gardening principles

observing people

as they walk past

through

looking at us

us looking back

at them

a whole day sat in the sunshine

legs turn pink as a flamingo’s

we must have looked a right pair

but approachable

coz he came up and asked if he could take a photo

he did

took two in fact

one of us

one of me n him

grinning like cats

into the lens

we may look incongruous

suspicious perhaps

but not suspicious enough to warrant a chat from the local PC

from 9.40 to 14.00 a riot shield police van circumnavigated the area

periodically driving into the site

at a creaking pace

not sure if their presence made us feel safe – coz they were there should anything untoward happen

or fearful – because they were there expecting something to happen.

we’d each recently finished reading

edgelands: journeys into England’s true wilderness.

by a pair of poets

Paul Farley & Michael Symmons Roberts

so we sat and discussed these other artists' take on overlooked spaces…

today

in particular

we were musing over the geographic placement of an edgeland

where is the centre?

and when do we arrive at the edge?

if a city has an inner-city of wasteland – is that an edgeland?

and if the edgelands are

at the edge of the city

and at the edge of the countryside – do the suburbs classify as edgelands?

is a town in decline ‘on the edge’?

sat here less than 500 yards from the centre of a city, are we in an edgeland?

this land is indeed on the edge of something

something that looks ‘other’ to it

it’s on the edge of a housing estate

it’s on the edge of a university campus

it isn’t the centre of anything

as artists, how precise do we need to be?

should we be pedantic?

abiding by our garden principles

there’s not a lot for us to ‘do’

as such

so we just ‘be’

her and me

taking it all in

indulgently

a sparrow hawk flies overhead

a passer-by tells us that cormorants roost in a tree

every day

same time

like clockwork

down by the river

which is just behind that wall

a kestrel

so low

so close to us

we see it’s Salford red (brick) coloured plumes

a young man

hoodie clad

hoodie up

on a day that’s pushing 25º C

bends down to pick a dandelion clock

startled by something he jerks back

perhaps a buzzing insect of some kind

re-composed

he picks the dandelion

blowing it’s clock as he crosses the road

i wonder if we should make more of an effort

bizarrely

doing nothing

is one of the most challenging things I’ve done

she wonders if we should do less

stop writing the blog

after all

what we are doing

here in anyone’s garden

is

‘IT’

isn’t it?

what’s the point of a second-hand account?

it stops us being here

why do we want to, or need to, reach out to anyone other than those who pass by and through this site?

that said – we don’t actually ‘reach out’

we’re here enjoying anyone’s garden

with anyone who cares to join us

a few notes made of them:

wearing stilettos – totters

wearing a hijab

carrying cake

in a rush

waved at us

man wearing flip-flops

smoking

carrying musical instruments

smoking

wearing school uniforms

most just looked they were walking from A to B

while we sat in the centre of the edge of something

a challenged landscape

anyone’s garden is a challenged landscape

Un scenic nature

Not fitting a vision of the picturesque

people search for something pretty or colorful, for scenic beauty, for the picturesque. Landscapes regularly provide that, but when they do not, we must not think that they have no aesthetic properties. (Holmes Rolston 1988)

anyone’s garden has aesthetic properties

if you take the time to look

discard prejudices

and cast aside cultural conditioning

anyone’s garden is not a picture postcard

or a scene you might find on a biscuit tin lid

it is a

living

breathing

landscape

so we claim

anyone’s garden

although ‘aesthetically challenged’

it is

in fact

beautiful

principles and dandy blooms

without realizing

we’ve been upholding a principle that isn’t on our list

and

it’s a principle that I struggle with – the hardest of the lot

it goes against my domestic instinct

it is -

don’t tidy (sweep, clean up, order – that kind of thing)

this principle slipped its way into our consciousness – like a ‘weed’ in my head

I love to sit in the garden –

watching, listening, sniffing, taking it all in

and I love to meander on the patchwork of surfaces

amongst it All

but every time I’ve been in anyone’s garden

I’ve had compelling desires to meddle

not to weed or plant or prune or dig or harvest or squish or nurture

but to arrange or move loose stuff

to sweep

to order

to tidy up (a tad)

to create - the odd intervention with the loose detritus

of shards of glass

I said –

Let’s brush them to one side

or

stack them up in pillars

She said

why?

I said

Well, if there’s no glass on the floor people who come over for a chat can safely sit on the ground without puncturing their bums

She said

Isn’t their safety their responsibility?

Isn’t that the point – that they take responsibility for their interaction with the environment?

I pondered – and concurred

But my urge didn’t wane

hasn’t waned

Not written - but adhered to

This principle – no tidying up

applies when we take photos too –

so

bits of twigs n other stuff

organic or otherwise

come into shot

and stay in shot

no tweaked pristine pics here

just what is there

but in anyone’s garden

anyone else is free to move what they want

and they do

of their own accord

through whatever motivation…

Today I went to anyone’s garden on my own

no cake

no deckchair

no spectacle as such

just me

with camera

scrubbing around

on my knees

photographing a garden in bloom

399 blooms

full blooms

(not buds)

of a single species

the dandelion (Taraxacum)

dandy clusters

dandy groupingsdandy linessingle golden bloomsbursts of sunshinefrom terra firma

yellow reigning over terra nullius acquired through occupation

paling in it’s wake

coltsfoots appear to kowtow

en masse

399 dandy full blooms on this side of the desire line

on the other side

I didn’t count

just a single shot

of some that are there

for now

what are they up to?

As we talk we notice 3 people in the neighbouring brownfield/wasteland

we watch them

“what are they up to?”

“I don’t know – but we should keep an eye on them”

they disappear

then reappear

right by us

in a nodding acknowledgement of our deckchair sitting [in]activity

he says,

“Don’t worry love I’ve done much weirder things…”

I wonder…

“what’s he done? Where’s he done it?”

I wish he’d loitered longer to chat to us

but he was over there

on the other side of the wall

with his mates

and we were sat

on this side of the wall

in our deckchairs

on 10th March

we decided to turn our back on the traffic and face the other way

taking our deck chairs to the other side of the desire line

this is her view
and this is mine

As we sat

relaxing in our adopted garden

she told me of an article she’d read in the paper –

a review of Edgelands: Journeys into England's True Wilderness (Farley & Symmons 2011)

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/mar/06/edgelands-england-farley-roberts-review

(the review was written by Marion Shoard

who, coincidentally, coined the term ‘edgelands’ in 2002

at the end of the review

a reader’s comment caught her eye…

Funny how those who sing hymns to such places don't tend to be in the socio-economic bracket that necessitates living next to them. How exciting a scrapyard must be when seen through binoculars from a mansion, slightly less so when you're stuck next to it because you can't afford to move somewhere nicer.

We mulled over this comment as we sat in our anyone’s garden

What about she and me?

Neither of us live in mansions

Nor do we view these landscapes from afar through binoculars

We sit in them

For pleasure

For relaxation

not because they are a novelty

As for me, right now – I live less than 200 yards away from a ‘wasteland’, an edgeland littered with traces of wild play

And

as a child I used to play on the slag heaps by our house

as well as the abandoned foundations of a building behind Aunty Dilys’ house

my earliest memories of out door play are framed in wasteland spaces

And

as I’ve grown

so has my appreciation

for these

undervalued landscapes

She, on the other hand, whilst clearly having lived near to so called wastelands

has no memory of wastelands

for her, every bit of wild land was an exciting place

special places to experience nature

they’re perverse nature reserves aren’t they…

always have been

always will be

nature appreciation is a free commodity

and beauty is in the eye of the beholder

regardless of socio-economic circumstances

if we value these landscapes, do they not become valuable to us?

Are they not useful?

Anyone’s garden is useful

at different times

for different things

for a couple of hours a week - it’s useful for us

Last year it was useful for butterflies

This year less likely so

Because all the budlea butterfly bushes have been cut down

That’s what’s perverse

Urban brownfield sites offer

A mosaic of reserves for nature

A mosaic of reserves wildlife

But only for a limited time…

March 3rd

facing into the sun
the sun on our faces
this is her view…


and this is mine



bitterly cold
blankets over our knees



we take in the delights of the garden
aurally, flute playing filters through the air
around our feet, shards of broken glass glisten


– the urge to sweep is strong!

at undetermined intervals we wander through the garden…

taking care not to step on the plants…

there are many reproductive structures in this brownfield garden
and
today
joy of joys
we discovered our first flower…
a coltsfoot (Tussilago farfara)

the ground is positively bursting forth with little purple sproutings

and buds about to unfurl



bitterly cold
back to our chairs
would that we could do some sketching – but fingers are numb and unwilling




to warm up - a flask of hot stuff and some cake…

sat here – like this – is the time when we notice how people notice us.

this ‘anyone’s garden’ is in an overlooked spot
on the corner of a road junction
not only that – there’s a public desire line thoroughfare through the garden
(of course this makes the garden a perfect spot for a respite)
because of its location we’re conspicuous to a number of; commuters, travellers, locals, and workers…
passengers on the top deck of a double-decker bus, in unison, do a double take…
police officers, patrolling in their police car, curiously peer
passengers wind down windows, stick their heads out, and gawp
some shout out to us – often inaudible due to the traffic hum
sometimes not so
“Are you alright? Is it a protest?
“No” I shout back “We’re just sitting here enjoying the garden”
we receive jolly waves
and partake in thumbs up gesturing and fragments of banter
“Why not” he retorted
“Enjoy it” they shouted
“Good on ya” he said

a second wander reveals more flowers blooming –
wavy bitter-cress (Cardamine flexuosa)



closer

closer still

in the brownfield garden
the anyone’s garden
the observers garden
there’s visual intrigue all around

lying in wait of recognition

In anyone’s garden – 17 feb 2011-02-27

given our gardening principles, there’s not a lot for us to do in terms of ‘gardening’
so we sit…
and enjoy our garden
and enjoy it we do
next to each other in deckchairs


This is her view




And
This is my view




so, quite contrary, how does the garden grow?
With tufts of grass
And cushions of moss
And mattresses all in a row –

It’s february – and fair to say that not much is blooming just yet
And we don’t quite know what the garden will beget amid the strange surface sealings of man-made fabrics….