Back in spring of 2022 I was asked to contribute some words and images to a book to partner a horticulture project by Liverpool-based artist Frances Disley at The Turnpike in Leigh. Just as gardening is influenced and constrained by the seasons, so is her practice and this publication came out of many deep conversations across the year with botanical herbalists, horticulturalists and many of the plants living outside the gallery, planted by members of the public.
I based my text on gifting, specifically relating to my research and journalling around experiencing community gardens as spaces for using alternative currencies, observing non-linear time and building social permaculture. The images were made in response to some energy flow diagrams I was looking at, and include photos from Glengall Wharf Garden in Peckham, where I used to volunteer during the first year of the covid pandemic.
Other contributors include:
Kevin Lowe
Livia Lazar
designed by Holly Eliza Temple
Frances Disley is a visual artist based in Liverpool. Frances worked on a two-year commission for The Turnpike CIC, working with Fallen Angels Dance Theatre to explore positive approaches to addiction and mental health through the medium of dance and visual art. Since 2018, she has been working on a series of commissions for Human Libraries, Merseyside. Her project Freshly Cut Grass consists of a series of sound works taking the form of guided imaginary journeys, workshops, planting and wellbeing activities centred on the healing power of plants.
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On becoming a frequent visitor to a green space, as a bee or butterfly or bird might be, I begin to notice some of the natural rhythms occurring, and can glean fragments of useful information. If I pick the right time and direction to look in, the speedy growth of a patch of nettles, the sudden appearance of tadpoles in a pond, and the sharp temperature drop at dusk will all happily show themselves.
Organic lifecycles don’t just move in one direction like our industrial timeline, instead they are non-linear —ellipses, waves, spirals– and multilayered. Periods of growth, change and rest are gently shaped by the seasons, and help paint a detailed picture of the delicately balanced ecosystems that rely on them. Once I was able to observe and embrace these subtle differences from our own existence, it made me think about my presence in their space.
Many gardeners, poets, writers and artists argue that capitalism has taught us that humans are the dominant species on Earth, so it might seem logical we control wildness to prove and reinforce the hierarchy. However, by dropping the human-centred narrative, we see all plants as our equals; Independent thinkers that strive to communicate with each other; Sentient beings that require care, respect and understanding; Soft bodies that need water, warmth, heat and oxygen. If we stare at the dandelions, listen to the oaks and talk with the rosemary, they will tell us everything we need to support their flourishing, and as Robin Wall Kimmerer tells us, “All Flourishing is Mutual”.
I have an idea for us to try together. It might help realise our placement within a deep entanglement of ecology, a complex web of life. It might help us see our more damaging habits more clearly. It might help us find a new approach to bonding with vegetation. Yesterday was the best time to make a change. The second best is today.
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What if we agreed that we are not taking
the flowers
the fruits
the nuts
the cones
the seeds
the leaves
the stems
the bark
the roots?
What if we agreed that plants are gifting them to us?
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I wouldn’t steal something from a human friend, so why from a more-than-human one? It’s a privilege to receive food from plants. That they share parts of themselves that will not kill us is generous, that some of these parts hold properties that make them nutritious, medicinal or practical to us is miraculous.
We can reciprocate the care plants show us in a number of small ways, some symbolic and others more literal. I like to talk to wild herbs when I am collecting, asking how their day is and paying them compliments. One friend asks them whether they would mind sharing their bounty and says they always give a clear answer back. Another sprinkles a homemade tea blend on the soil next to the giving plants. Undoubtedly the most important gift we can return is intentional care: to only take what we need and do our best to protect and enrich the soil.
Our relationship to the natural world can be very alienating when there are so many barriers to accessing even our most basic needs: food, water, shelter, warmth, human touch. We are consistently warned of these running out and encouraged to engage in competitive behaviours in order to ensure our survival. I would argue this creates fear around scarcity, and if we are able to look beyond this economic tactic, we can tap into the abundance of resources that we already have around us and within ourselves.
Money is no measure of someone’s worth. In our consumer society, where so much emphasis is placed on financial and material wealth, we must leave behind some popular ideas of value which don’t take into account the luck of being born into fortune or safety, and instead experiment with alternatives that bring us closer together and forge new appreciation of our individual and others’ collective qualities.
Since we have established that all food, medicine and textiles from plants are an incredible gift, I think we can push a little further and consider how we can share our human time / energy / tools / ideas / knowledge / skill / love without requiring something in return. Exchanging any amount of these for money is to attach a rational number to something that is abstract or intangible. It’s like trying to buy a feeling or particle of air.
By removing this rigid expectation of like-for-like, we can build new structures of value like trust, friendship and solidarity. These structures can be strong and robust, yet soft and flexible. They can be tried and tested, or never fully formed. They can bring out the best in ourselves, and uncover hidden talents. In our greenspaces, where money has no value, and people mean everything, let’s look at some of the ways we’re already building connections.
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Examples of non-monetary exchange:
Labour exchange - you made lunch so I will help you dig over the compost
Timebanking - you helped me weed for two hours so I promise you the same
Favour - I ask you to hold the gate open for me while I wind up the hosepipe
Swap - you made me some vegan biscuits so I gave you a small painting
Loan - you borrowed my secateurs for the week to prune something at home
Skillshare - we learn to identify a different tree species together every week
Gifting - I brought you a bouquet of wild flowers because I was thinking of you
Resting - we sat down in comfortable chairs and did nothing except be