sat 18 May 2024

Sat 18 May 2024

‘The Street Matters’ are going home. But not before a walk. We want to explore the boundaries and extensions, history and connections of this street that was once marshland – to consider its past and future. Manor, farm, railway lands, marsh.  We cross the contested ground of the back field  - another space built on the remains of war – rubble and barrage balloon ballast.  We talk of common land and commoning, shared ownership and responsibility - of the renewed need to come together, recognise and fight for this as metropolitan open land is infringed upon. We gather elderflowers and nettles and return to the space to add these to the ingredients of the regular street potluck meal. This is now well established in here and today there is excitement over new and renewed conversations and meetings after Friday’s more impromptu gathering.

After our farewells we stand surrounded by the evidence of deep listening and thinking - about place, collaboration, community, the power of art and the pace and scale of action.  As yesterday’s work focused on a form of anti-consultation I look at the maps, notes, drawings, well used crockery and left over food and think of a form of anti-evaluation – how to measure the impact of work like this in ways that aren’t box ticking and that are harder to quantify.

A year ago we were often asked the question would the POWER STATION project continue without a space. Well…yes. But the question should have been how much more would it grow with a space. Even the basic logistics – a place to store and share the communal ‘assets’ -  the tables, the tools… a place to centralise editing and team workspace – make a big difference.  Because that is the weight of the labour of this - the behind the scenes administration and organising and shifting and negotiating is the stuff that wears. The strains on relationships and family when there is no door to close, the limitations of expanding the invitation with no place to base that inviting.  This aftermath of two days of intensive exchange in a space that can hold this is calm, chaotic and precious. I close the door knowing that others keep working, to their own rhythms,  in their private studios and on this public project and that we share responsibility of the space to breath, make and act together.

From the archive

Sat 20th May

I set the alarm for 6 to check the starling is alive. He definitely is. I receive a text saying the little sparrow didn’t make it through the night. I write this and hear the occasional flutter of wings from the borrowed cat crate next to me. Houdini is watching me and I attempt low tuneful whistling to induce some calm. He wants out. I want him to have out but I ‘ve been told to please keep him safe with me as he’s not old enough to survive on his own. He looks like a survivor to me but I know there’s a reason I picked him up off the busy street and why he couldn’t fly away. He is injured. I think and hope only it’s only slightly. But he needs time somewhere with these people who have committed their lives and spaces to caring.

It feels like I’m being recruited. It wouldn’t take much. Perhaps a space in the new studio with a little area for animal care…. Perhaps that is a vital part of any community space if you think about what our community is – all that breathes and more. Possibly it would quickly get over-whelmed and this is a mad cap addition but I can dream. I remember the disappointed look from the school Headmaster as I was awarded the Science Prize and my book of choice was ‘St Tiggywinkles Wildcare Handbook: First Aid and Care for Wildlife.’ Disappointment mixed with distain from someone who came from the strict standards of Singapore and a mission for academic excellence that did not include arts or callings of care beyond dentistry or medicine. A seemingly admirable goal of girls achieving in male dominated subjects that left little space for routes of imagination denigrated as ‘feminine’. I didn’t pay much attention. I threw myself into work experience as a country park ranger, undertaking wildflower survey and soil studies, counting goats in the mist and falling deliciously in non-requited first love with my ranger mentor.

I chase the wildlife rescue team with the need to drop the starling off somewhere where he can be cared for and rehabilitated properly. Whilst I await a response I take trays of sunflowers and bags of compost up to The Grange. The route through the rubbish stores is blocked so I manage to find someone who lives there to let me in. Dan and George are walking when I receive news that I have a drop off point for the bird in Hackney. The house is one of those beautiful Georgian places you can only dream of – dilapidated but prime real estate full of birds from budgerigars with blushing pink cheeks to recently rescued crow and pigeon.  Irena transfers the starling inside and I hear the familiar shriek of protest and know that bird will be ok. She promises to feed it well on fresh meal worm with space for it to practice flight. Goodbye and Good luck.

With this unexpected detour we’re slightly late for the Pot Luck meal that has moved out of earlier sites inside houses and Project’s Zero’s café space into the grounds of The Grange housing estate at the top of our road. It is a day of sun and sunflowers.  We share food donated from the Gleaners café and those that attend. Sharing recipes and the sweet tea I now know is laced with cardamon and cloves.  I wear my toolbelt loaded with sunscreen, seeds and string and we get to work.  Natalie digs alongside me, talking about her family’s monument making business in Oklahoma. How the feel of the spade in hard ground is so familiar. She is a keen historian and mudlarker and we keep a look out for crockery and more on this site of WW2 bombing that destroyed the existing Victorian terrace  - its rubble lying beneath this 1950s housing block. We hit layers of impacted London brick stock, are surprised and happy to find worms, earwigs and beetles and keep digging.  Natalie talks about oral history training and how it transforms interview processes and filmmaking and I get excited about the heritage lottery bid we’re writing to explore the areas infrastructure and energy history.

More people arrive. Digging and sweating and chatting and joining in. We reassure some that their tiny sunflowers aren’t their fault. It’s not a competition. Some are thriving. Some are in need of new pots, more water, more sunshine. It’s a learning process. A little girl has been knocked by the loss of her little ones so looks gloomily around at the sunflowers proclaiming – ‘they’re all going to die’. We reassure her that plants are tough and we’re sure these will survive as long as they get water and she becomes of the most committed in the procession of children with watering cans filled from tanks in the back of Tilo’s car. Between taking wild shopping trolley rides around the courtyard.

The place is buzzing with activity. Time goes fast and the sun is hot.  Kristin has a big gash and lump on her head from an accident with a spade. Siddiqi is on a mission to plant evenly spaced sunflowers around the whole of the courtyard. I break a fork helping him. We’re exhausted by the time we pack up crate of plates and pots, cutlery and garden tools.  I realise our work, however fun, consistently intrudes into ‘home’ time and I take the children to see ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’ enjoying leaning back in a dark cinema on an adventure through universes and tear inducing moments involving a raccoon. As I drift off to sleep I receive a text saying Houdini the starling is doing well.