Wallflower: Ramble 3 - Some responses

So here is the original proposal for Ramble 3:

A purposefully quick ramble, #3 will consist of a series of performed conversations undertaken through, in and alongside a series of hedgerows. These conversations will be undertaken by members of The Working Party: Mary Paterson (producer and writer), Rajni Shah (performance maker), Suzy Shrubb (musician), Tracey Low (producer), Shauna Concannon (academic / digital artist), Tiffany Charrington (live artist), Lucy Cash (interdisciplinary artist) and Sheila.

We decided after some discussion to set some clear boundaries around our Ramble - particularly in relation to time (which we felt we were up against). And so at midday on Friday 10th January we met at the Meridean Line in Greenwich Park and precisely one hour later at the park gates. What happened in between was to be our ramble and up to each of us individually...

We invited two documenters to join us: Maddy Costa and RULER (John Hunter).

Ramble 3 will be probably be presented 'officially' at some point, but until it does here is some documentation from it:

From Maddy Costa: HERE
From RULER (John Hunter) video: HERE
From Mary Paterson: HERE

And Lucy Cash also wrote the following:

"In my room, the world is beyond my understanding, but when I walk I see that it consists of three or four hills and a cloud." Wallace Stevens

We started with no time and we ate time. With our feet. Or with a camera, marking the hour in five minute increments, a lens looking 'Due South'. Exactly south of where she (Suzie) wanted to be. She was there, and so were the squirrels and the green parakeets and the woman wearing bright pink leggings and jogging with her child-in-a-pushchair. Running up a hill (Shauna), in a January raw with stubble, and a massacre of roses.

Loving Memory, Ingrid Bergman, Ice Cream, Dawn Chorus, The Dark Lady, Ruby Wedding, Heavenly Rosalind, Peacekeeper, Silver Lining, Tequila Sunrise .

Tiffany's words: massacre of roses. She was my rambling companion as the constellation of us scattered in the park with all its boundaries, and an observatory for an anchor.

A fondness.

For seeing us at a distance (Rajni).

Recognising a gait, an expressive turn of the head.

And all of it, all of it framed by the hour.

This January.

This day.

Now.

A stasis in the turning of the year, a tension running up against the desire for new. Low sun too heavy to climb in the sky, lumbering under the weight of a damp melancholia. But such a dear showering of sunlight, flying into my eye. A sunspell.

And history. There. Right around the corner: the oak tree now fallen and twisted, nevertheless marks the place where Kings and Queens stood and argued, (or kissed?)

The rawness, in all its darkness, invites tenderness and turning my attention from a bright glimpse of green moss, I see Tiffany at a distance standing amongst the trees. Time has tricked me, I've stepped into a painting of, 'A Woman At Contemplation'. I still myself, wanting to keep this moment, to hold it in the palm of my hand and curl my fingers around it.