Site Visit – thoughts, feelings, views, observation and conversation

07 September 2019

1:46 pm.

Laughing people • leaves rustling • chirping of birds • bicycle passing • airplane above • a skateboard

“Woo Hoo!” Yet, a sense of quiet. I could sit here forever. (Except, I need to go to the bathroom, but the one inside the gardens might be filthy.. should I give it a go?)

Physical activity. Energy. People with cameras. Such a place is a novelty in this city. Dog walkers. Local residents? They probably know and cherish this secluded green spot. Owned by the street artists, but not exclusive in its access. 

The rolling swing attracts many a young person. They hang, Laugh, capture, jump, take turns, watch, and then leave. The swing is for everyone. Who installed it?  It is a success. It embodies the playful experience of the community garden inside. I say ‘inside’ since a wall separates the green open area from the fenced, yet open access community space inside, that they call ‘garden’. 

The intrigued photographer is now satiated. The iphone photographer is now leaving into the unnamed road leading into Brick lane. A girl (adult) approaches me. She wants to swing on the incomprehensible (to me) Spring Swing that I am comfortably perched on, with her friend. I oblige. Some toddlers want to swing on it too. The girls oblige. More photographers. A train passes overhead. More ‘pole swingers’. This time as viewed from a grassy mound in Allen greens. 

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They love it. Momentarily. They just discovered a unique and unknown part of their city. 

Musicians? Walking into the garden. I want to follow them. (Also use the bathroom inside)

I’ve lost the musicians as I struggle to find spare change in my overloaded handbag, for a donation at the garden entrance. 

I could use a coffee. The roving cafe functions out of a small van. A lady runs the cafe. I ask for a coffee and directions to the loo. She’s ‘not sure how they’ll be’ as she points to a corner behind the bushes in the distance. Its my third visit to the gardens, (fourth to our site) and yet I find it unnerving to be walking here alone. The ‘punks’ are at ease here. They come here in groups. I am a lone girl.

It is a port-a-potty. It smells, but I need to go.

As I leave the dinghy corner to go back to the van-cafe, I walk past a group of boys, timidly avoiding eye contact. “Hi Darling, you smoke?”, he says. I shudder as a ‘no’ finally comes out of my mouth. I want to stop myself from escaping this amazing space again. I collect my coffee and choose a spot in the centre of the garden. Why am I so intimidated? They surely don’t mean any harm? People just come to chill here. I see no crime, no violence. Is it the sheer lack of regulation in this ‘community managed’ space that challenges my sense of safety? Or is it my inherent sense of discomfort sharing a space with strangers (majorly of the opposite sex)?

Another train passes by. The sounds on ‘this side of the wall’ are a bit different.

A beer can opens. Some boys giggle. Expletives are hurled. The cafe lady shakes ice. overlapping tracks of music. The smell of cigarette (or is it weed?) smoke. A mouse runs across the unpaved pathway.

“Hola!” “Why have I never seen this…” people keep walking in and pass by me. “..girl with her coffee..” I am a part of this community now. But do I really belong here?

“Where’s the toilet, dude?”

“Straight down, to the left”

“…Ah! heh! heh! heh!”

Is that Turkish language?

‘Nose blowing’

The photographers are happy. ‘Click!’ Footsteps. Rustling twigs.

That’s definitely Spanish! I’m sure. I just got back from a trip to Spain. I know these sounds. Just not their meanings, yet.

Wind. Leaves. More Canons. More Nikons. A butterfly flutters past my face.

Visitors “Click!” and move past. The community stays.

Hey, what’s so intriguing about that distressed, makeshift bench surrounded by wild foliage?

Giggles. Radio. ‘Click!’ – this was me, last week.

Bzzzzzz. Rustle. Whoosh. Peace. This is me now.

Bottles clink as she picks up after herself and her friends.

They all love the bench, for some reason. “Click!” “…No!” “Clap!” Bike chain churning. Heavy voices from behind the bush. Happy sounds. They are ready to leave. Why are they screaming? The jewellery stall owner chats up someone across the gardens. Another train. Wind. Leaves. Laughing sounde. The music is getting louder. Its one of them. On his bicycle. He’s carrying a speaker as he loops across the garden path.

Is that German? Husshhhh… Focus. Click.

“I don’t know how to get back to the station.. are we lost?” “….We’ll get…”

“You French?” “Yes.” ‘Screaming from behind the bush’. “…sit in the boat there…” Radio playing. A young guy and a middle aged lady discuss something serious as they share a smoke.

A bicycle bell rings. I want to explore the back portion of the garden now. I am lazy. I am also scared of exploring unknown territories. And I want to avoid confronting the guy who offered me a smoke, again.

Cycle chains. Aeroplanes.

The couple laughs. Maybe they reached a conclusion. The boys come out of the bush. They are finally ready to leave. Whoosh. Another train.

Girl with winged maroon eyeliner. Does their appearance unite them? Make them part of the community? I’ve lost count of the (D)SLRs in this place. ‘English in a Spanish accent’. A ‘photographer’ bumps into my seat back. He likes the dilapidated bench too. But can he capture the feeling of this space through his lens?

‘Spray paint can shakes outside’. Winged eyeliner girl shares a smoke with her friend as they seat themselves on the ‘Minesweeper’ ship sculpture. Most visitors are new here. This place is something they’ve never experienced before.

“…I think America and England make China look bad….”

Drums in the distance. I pick up my backpack and empty coffee cup. “Click!” I like the innovative furniture too!

Natalie owns an allotment bed here. She found this garden two years ago. That was about 1.5 years after moving into London. She came for the urban agriculture, but stayed for the respite from the concrete jungle outside, the lonely life and the fast pace of the city. She too, was inspired by the benches here. She learnt carpentry in the garden and loves to make benches from waste wood slats. She doesn’t have to pay any rent for cultivating in her garden bed. Nor for using ‘uncle Andrew’s shed’ to keep her gardening equipment. She comes here every weekend now. She loves to be in the quiet that she finds between the noise, music and activity. She has issues with the donation guy at the gate. “..but essentially he’s just trying to help keep things running”. She’s not very interested in the music at the gardens. “They do stuff in the back of the garden..”

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Drums. looks like a rehearsal of some kind. More makeshift furniture. This time dotted with sculptures made from just about anything and everything.

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People are loosening up with the alcohol and music. More allotment beds. This is utopia. Things we read about. Things that seem to good to be true.

I walk along the graffiti wall outside.

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Where’s my beloved 3D perspective artwork from just this Wednesday?? Painted over. I don’t like the new one in its place. Such is life. Whoooosshhh.

I peek back into the garden through the fencing. A secret patio. My camera cannot see what my eyes can.

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4pm. I’m back on my spring seat outside. The artists are painting this side of the wall too. Everyone loves the rotating pole swing. ‘Click!’ The POW memorial artwork is immortal. But will it always be?

A skateboard. screaming on the swing. Thumppp! She’s okay.

Rustle. Rustle. Rustle. The pooch loves it here too! “C’mon! lets go!” She obeys diligently.

The green patch is a thoroughfare. A worn out strip forms an organic pathway leading from the Brick lane exit to the tunnel leading up to the Nomadic gardens. The organic pathway marks people’s natural tendencies toward things that attract them in a space, and defines their pedestrian preference.