Catriona Gallagher: Plant-processing film at Sparoza
Photo: Catriona Gallagher
The project “Plant-processing film at Sparoza” seeks to develop alchemical moving images about the experimental water-wise garden of Sparoza, located near Paiania in Attica. The project spans filmmaking, horticulture, alternative photochemistry, and feminist retellings for ecological entanglement.
Sparoza, like other gardens, is a conceptually liminal place, which blurs the distinction between inside and outside, wildness and control; a container for the human-plant relations held within it. A garden is a place of conjunction between inside and outside, a human construction to mediate wildness and civility through the control and domination of more-than-human entities. At times, and particularly in new approaches informed by rewilding, decolonial practices, and eco-feminism, gardens can also be a site of collaboration with more-than-humans.
Since the 1960s, three generations of women have acted as custodians of Sparoza, all with roots outside of Greece, in the UK, Ireland, and the USA. The garden was run by a primarily outsider community who came to Greece and wanted to learn how to live more in harmony with the climatic, topographical, and cultural context of the Attica plain. I volunteered as a gardener at Sparoza from 2016 to 2020 and learned with and from its community of members, women, pensioners, locals, and people from all over the world to encourage gardening with a water-wise, anti-colonial perspective. This project therefore moves through questions of colonialism in migrations of people and plants whilst drawing from the energy of the custodians and volunteers of the garden, who proffer a less domineering and more collaborative existence with plants. Themes of control, dominance, and selection resonate alongside an otherwise quiet and meditative visual exploration of the garden.
The experimental element of the project aims to develop black & white negatives of people working in the garden, made out of the plant matter that they are weeding. Moving images of people working on hand tasks in the garden – weeding, potting, pruning, planting, and harvesting – will be developed from its so-called “weeds”, often invasive species like oxalis, that proliferate in autumn and spring. The weeding is filmed, and the weeds are gathered and boiled into a soup to develop the silver halide in the negatives.
Photo by: Stephie Grape
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I have been filming at Sparoza throughout the autumn, once a week on Thursday mornings with the volunteers. Each time, I shoot a single reel of 16mm black & white negative film, so around 2 minutes and 45 seconds of footage for each 2-3 hour gardening session. I’m using several different black & white films stocks, each of which will develop differently in the plant-based developers. Occasionally I shoot in color – images I won’t be able to develop by hand but will instead send to a lab. With these, I make sure I capture the shifting colors of the seasons: the dusty browns of autumn, the vibrant greens of winter, the multitude of floral hues in spring, and the yellows punctuated by reds and purples in summer. The sound recordings I’m collecting digitally are longer in length and include Lucie giving us volunteers instructions, voice memos about rainfall and weather conditions from the previous week, the hum of bees, the barking of dogs, the chirping of birds, the background chatter of women’s voices, the clinking of trowels in gravely soil, and the snipping and clipping of secateurs. The minimal amount of filmed footage will eventually be edited down further, depending on how much usable material I have gathered and how the developers react with the emulsion. There is a great risk of losing an entire roll of film if I get something wrong during development, no matter how many times I test it.
Each Thursday morning, we gather at Sparoza, the house on the hill outside Peania, having traveled from across Athens and Attica. We wait for the other volunteers to arrive, we exchange news, and head outside as a group, usually with the dogs leading the way, for Lucie to show us what we will be doing. We stop at the tool shed to pick up buckets and gloves, and sometimes secateurs, rakes, trowels, and saws. We head to the part of the garden that holds tasks for us to do – raking in the frygana, pruning on the hill, weeding in Derek’s garden, tidying the nursery, lighting a bonfire by the pools. Lucie gives us an overview of the day’s work, always offering options for both the more confident gardeners and those who are newer or prefer to keep things simple. She demonstrates to the group how to prune the shrubs back correctly, how to weed oxalis without leaving behind its bulbs, how to gather seeds, when to deadhead or cut back, and when to wait for cooler temperatures. Around every task and every plant, a web of associations, experiences, and knowledge is woven, its threads spoken a new with each telling.
Photo: Catriona Gallagher
The volunteers then spread out and begin their work, which lasts for the next two hours. Meanwhile, we talk about everything: from plants in our own gardens to our partners, families, and life stories. Somehow, knotted problems seem to loosen while gardening. The wisdom of the women around us spans three generations and different backgrounds and cultures. Often, conversations turn into comparisons between Greece and the UK, or France, or the US, or wherever else the volunteers grew up. We speak Greek, English, French, and sometimes other languages, with most people mixing two or more. Most sessions, Sally and Jacky, the great gardeners of Sparoza before us, are mentioned, in nuggets of advice about maintaining this garden or in stories about where its plants came from. Gradually, we look around us and start to notice the improvements we have made. Many hands working together can cover a large area in a short time. As the sun passes over its climax – whether it’s autumn, winter or spring – Lucie calls for a gradual stop and heads inside to put the coffee on. We put back our tools, empty our buckets full of weeds or clippings into the compost, and gather the layers of clothing we have shed as the work warmed us. We wander back through the garden to look at what we did, see which plants are flowering, and consider what tasks might need doing next week. The dogs circle around the group, wagging their tails, sensing the work is done.
Photo: Catriona Gallagher
We stomp into the house and make for the kitchen, down the few steps into the dining well where the table is laid with the pies and cakes we brought, the coffee percolating and tea brewing. In a flurry of voices, we make sure everyone has a cup of brew and then either warm ourselves by the log fire in winter or cool off in the house’s dark interior in summer. We sit around the table and on the steps of the dining well, designed by Jacky to resemble an amphitheater. The southeast window frames the Mesogeion plain, and the community of Sparoza’s volunteers unwinds and connects. Conversations often deepen during this time, as the entire group is brought together again. We have talked about topics such as violence against women, love and relationships, learning Greek as adults by immersion, changing climate patterns and unpredictable weather upending our plans, and the challenges and joys in our lives outside of garden. Inevitably, we turn to the problems of Sparoza: how to help the plants survive the drought, how to maintain this small historic garden, and how to secure funding for its future. The same questions circle back most weeks. The paintin of Sally and the black & white photos of Jacky look over us from the wall. Their battles were much the same as ours. As the gathering winds down, individuals and pairs start to peel away to their cars, their afternoon commitments and outer lives beckoning. The cakes and pies are almost gone, the mugs are empty and taken to be washed. Our final words are about next week’s plans and who will or won’t be able to join. We all depart, and the house and garden, once noisy with voices and laughter, quietens again until next week.
Between these moments, I pick up my camera and film the group of volunteers as they garden, talk, work, laugh and drink tea. Over the past three months, they have grown used to the camera and patient when I ask them to describe what they’re doing for the sound recordings. I ask them to save buckets of weeds for me, which I empty into plastic bags and take back to my studio to boil and stew. The next day, I add soda and vitamin C to this infusion. In the darkroom, at just the right concentration, temperature and duration, this “soup” becomes the developer for the black & white negative film I have captured of the volunteers weeding the very same plants whose chemistry now processes it. This film about Sparoza contains its plants, alchemically, too.
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Photo: Stephie Grape
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Photo: Pinelopi Gerasimou
Onassis AiR Fall Open Days 2024
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Photo: Pinelopi Gerasimou
Onassis AiR Fall Open Days 2024
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