sophiewonfor

perhaps this has nothing to do with gardens at all,

2015, perhaps that has nothing to do with gardens at all,

resin block of garden plants, screenprint and relief, shown at the Anna Leonowens Gallery

with credit and gratitude, in order of appearance of their words in the compiled text, to: caitlin, lynnie, linda, carol, lauren, zoë, sybil

small book of garden collages given to the above contributors

above photo credit: Amber O'Callaghan, all other documentation by the artist

it was always surprisingly quiet for being in the middle of the city, a totally different world in the mud and dirt and concrete debris. a place of magic and greenness. i found tangerines, oranges and pomegranates as they fell from the trees, a little neglected, covered in leafy loam, alive with so many insects, a glimmering haven of slugs and decomposing. tapestries of thistles and dried branches, left humbled by giant rhubarb leaves, enormous globes of hydrangea, succulents in so many chalky terracotta pots, wet with dew. thin emerald legs of tulips, calla lilies and irises ambling around begonias and peonies, their blossoms heavy with ants and honey. spruce trees and mountain ash grew so thick, they would always be taller than me. i used to sink under the leaves, hidden. perfectly protected by so many vines, swathes of freshly mown hay, tall grass, delphiniums and clover shifting in the breeze, the syrupy smell of a thousand jewel-like plants. i could sit there and just stare out. so i watched the world from there, living under the leaves, on the ground. all these things planted surrounding you, brushing between stalks of wild parsley, the way that you pull wet hair out of your eyes. everyday this is where i would wander, fascinated by all that could be grown, everything i ever wanted to know. a halcyon greenness, somehow within every place.
perhaps that has nothing to do with gardens at all.