In April last year, I did something out of my comfort zone. Through a kind introduction made by
, I joined a volunteer weekend tending to the garden at Prospect Cottage, home of artist and activist Derek Jarman, in Dungeness on the Kent coast.This was an anxiety-inducing scenario for me for three main reasons. Firstly, I have little, if any, gardening experience (and now my new-found penchant for nail art has certainly been getting in the way of that), so didn’t really know what I was doing other than bringing along my mum’s worn gloves from Wilkinson’s. Secondly, I wasn’t all that familiar with Derek’s life and work, and so felt a little fraudulent in taking a sacred spot to stay at this site where so many Jarman fans have paid homage. And thirdly, the weekend, which included an overnight stay in the cottage itself, was to be spent with people I’d never met before.
On top of this, the day before was the public announcement of gal-dem’s closure. After all the necessary logistics and actions that the time leading up to the closure required, it was only afterwards that I began processing the shock. My immediate thoughts were a grim balance of feeling like a total failure and disappointment, and asking myself what the hell I was going to do now or how I was going to uphold my financial responsibilities in the months ahead.
Arriving at Prospect Cottage was otherworldly. The landscape is so flat, the shingle beach stretches on endlessly, the power station stands as a dystopian but oddly comforting presence (kind of like the one on Lamma Island, for any Hong Kong-familiar readers). On the grey spring day, the cottage’s yellow-painted frames were almost luminous neon. The back of the garden seemingly had no end—indeed, Derek once said “my garden’s boundaries are the horizon”. It was a place unlike any other I had seen.
The wind whipped around our faces as we worked in the garden together, myself as a novice doing the easier tasks. These included the particularly meditative rituals of collecting white stones from the shingle beach to place inside the central square in the front garden, and picking every single weed out of a grassy patch encased by a heavy circular link-chain.
I didn’t feel like myself that weekend; in fact, I know I wasn’t myself that weekend. And while meeting and spending a whole weekend with strangers isn’t something you might think of as healing during a state of mental instability, it was exactly the environment I needed to be in. Secluded from my familiar world, communing with others removed from their own, provided a kind of solace at this pivotal moment when much else had gone wrong.
Clearing the decayed branches and leaves of sea kelp to make room for new life was an accomplishment. Completing my tasks made me feel a sense of purpose when much else felt futile. And the friendliness, generosity and gentleness with which those on that weekend treated me is a feeling I will never forget.
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So to return more than a year later, and even to write about it in this moment now, I am still overcome. It has been five years since Johnny Bruce became head gardener at Prospect Cottage, and he has run these volunteer weekends twice a year in the spring and the autumn. This weekend just gone, he organised a summer party to celebrate, inviting all those who have been part of the weekends over the year to come and see the garden at its most lush, June being the best time to witness it in all its splendour.
The spectacular sight of the California poppies dancing in the wind in front of the house again rendered me overcome with emotion. Standing there, thinking about the time and all that has passed since my first visit, I again felt the wind prick and sting my eyes. The skylarks circled, calling out against the mechanical puffs of the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Railway in the distance.
I was so moved remembering all of my feelings from last time, by reconnecting with those who had been on ‘my’ volunteer weekend, and by seeing the garden in full bloom. The hardiness of the bright purple foxgloves, lurching and bending in all directions by the will of the wind, was hypnotic. How were they that strong, that indefatigable against the elements?
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This is just one part of why the garden that Derek created, that his partner Keith Collins, and now Johnny, have continued to maintain and slightly adapted in their own ways, is so special. Each person comes to it with both their own relationship with the garden, and with Derek. These themes came up in a post-lunchtime conversation on Sunday between Johnny and Peter Fillingham, who was a friend of Derek’s.
They spoke about so many things that resonated with me; how Derek was a teacher, but in a way that didn’t feel like he was ‘conventionally’ teaching; Derek’s and by extension, the garden’s, resistance to institutionalisation and boundaries; contemporary concerns with the idea a singular ‘great’ artist rather than communal / community efforts; the responsibility of being a custodian of the garden and its legacy; and the question of what, if anything, should happen to Prospect Cottage in years to come.
As much as it is the garden itself, it is the people that I met on that weekend too that remind me of that time and all those feelings. For me, it is a place that will always mark a sense of resistance, steadfastness, unyielding stubbornness and resolve. A place that encouraged me to see into the future when I couldn’t see beyond the next day. A place that I will always be grateful to have connected with, and now feel able to say, I do have a claim to make this pilgrimage here—to Prospect Cottage.
Three Leaves
I want to highlight here two groups (among many!) doing amazing and impactful organising work in solidarity with Palestine: Fossil Free Books, and LSE Encampment. The latter were informed today that the university is taking those participating in the encampment to court this week under an Interim Possession Order—follow their page for more updates and ways to support.
I have spent the last two weekends in a row at Brockwell Park, for two very different (but both very camp) events; Mighty Hoopla and the Lambeth Country Show. Both brought me an incredible amount of joy with friends I love dearly; from feeling the crowd vibrate to Nelly Furtado, to watching my lamb lose in the Lamb National race. I’m so glad both of these events exist and are in South London.
Charli XCX has blessed us all with brat this week. My favourite track at the moment is ‘Talk talk’, but genuinely loving the whole album—as well as this thread of her best viral moments.
And updates from me
I loved speaking with Tschabalala Self about her new Harlem-inspired show, ‘Around the Way,’ on show at EMMA Museum, Finland, for CNN Style. She had so many wise insights—this didn’t make it into the piece, but she spoke about the importance of taking time and being patient for the fruits of the seeds that you plant to grow. It’s definitely a philosophy I’m keeping close moving forward.
My latest project with the amazing Digital Threats team at Global Witness was released last week. The team investigated TikTok’s susceptibility to approving election disinformation adverts ahead of the EU elections—turns out, pretty susceptible! The platform approved 16 ads that Global Witness submitted as part of the test, all of which contained false information around the elections. You can read more in AFP’s write up here.
I’m so thrilled to return to work with the Voice of Domestic Workers and Sounddelivery Media on the Future Voices programme, where 12 migrant domestic workers will build the skills and confidence to share their stories, influence public opinion and drive policy change. I can’t wait to be a small part of their journey over the next nine months.
You may have noticed this is coming a little later in the day than normal, mainly because I am scrambling to get things done before I go on holiday tomorrow! I think I may potentially write an edition from Penang next week—but let’s see. Until then, take care and thank you for reading.
Suyin x