Partisans With a Hoe — Spontaneous Gardening in Public Space


Introduction
Bára Lungová, Hana Drštičková, Anastasia Blokhina, Lucia Bergamaschi, Nela Maruškevičová, Kateřina Konvalinová, Ivana Balcaříková, Polina Davydenko
 
What you are about to explore is the result of a collaboration between visual artists and social anthropologists who came up with the idea of mapping the phenomenon of spontaneous gardening in Brno according to the methods of their respective disciplines. 
 
The motivation behind inviting social anthropologists alongside artists was inspired by the need to understand the motivations of people who practice gardening in public space, outside of their comfort zone, risking more potential obstacles and perhaps even confrontation with authorities. The primary impulse for this decision  was in fact the spontaneous gardening practices of the author of this introduction herself. While the artistic interventions were observant and actional (in that chronological order) and resulted in artworks that responded to a particular environment, the anthropological interventions were observant and analytical and likewise responded to particular gardening practices. The anthropologists analyzed the practices of spontaneous gardeners within a broader social context, while the artworks responded to the emotional perceptions of a particular place and highlighted one of the significant phenomena of exactly that place. 
In countries such as the USA, grassroots activities reclaiming public space for gardening has been practiced for decades, often as a response to issues of food sovereignty and a reclaiming of the commons. Artistic reflection of tensions between private property development, the ideals of the commons, the right to access to green space, and notions of a“fruitful” utilization of space were explored in the 1970s and 1980s in important artworks such as Alan Sonfist’s Time Capsule or Agnes Denes’s Wheat Field. Leap ahead several decades – we find that artists have been instrumental in establishing urban orchards or community gardens in hundreds of places.
While artistic projects typically require at least some small amount of funding and a basic legal structure (such as a lease agreement, etc.), some projects which are inspiring and fun at the same time have been carried out in a gray zone known as “guerilla gardening.” For instance, The US-based Guerilla Grafters initiative is one example of the aforementioned issues of commoning the urban landscape – their work involves making it edible. Guerilla Grafters select ornamental trees in public space and graft edible fruit varieties onto them. Their activities are framed by  opposition to the  context of urban landscaping that conceptualizes greenery as an element of aesthetic and ecosystem services within the urban fabric, but does not take into account the“agricultural” potential of urban spaces. While the aesthetic approach (as opposed to an“antiquated” and“out-of-place” agricultural approach) is understandable from the perspective of modernist urban planning, different historical and cultural experiences and perspectives also exist. 
In Central Europe, for instance, it used to be common to plant fruit trees both alongside roads in the open countryside and along the streets of villages and small towns until the mid- 20th century. Likewise, the context of urban gardening in continental Europe is greatly determined by the significant presence of allotment gardens in the urban texture. Although allotments in big cities were frequently set up on“unproductive” land or on land inaccessible to heavy machinery, in Brno, for instance, they were established in “land reserves,” with  some of them are located in the close vicinity of the city center. 
These allotments are essentially beautiful apricot orchards that at the end of March cover the city hilltops in pink. However, the allotments are compact areas of several hundred private or semi-private gardens and are clearly demarcated from the surrounding areas. In small towns, especially those of South Moravia, early post-war housing developments were established with the“urban peasant” in mind: the borders between park-like open space, decorative front gardens, and productive back gardens mingled with each other. While the large central lawns were expected to be mowed by municipal companies, the front ornamental gardens and the back or nearby productive gardens were maintained by the residents. The important historical factor to consider when thinking about planting in public space is public participation in the construction of housing estates during the communist era. As the councils were the construction investors, they also expected local residents (or, the co-op members) to plant and maintain the surrounding greenery. This was typically done through so-called “Actions Z,” which took place on a regular basis several times a year and in which residents were expected to clean up and tend to the area adjacent to the houses. Ornamental front gardens in housing estates were a common sight even in the 1990s and early 2000s. As the first generation of housing-estate residents aged, however, the front gardens gradually began to disappear and became replaced by lawns. Communal responsibility for public space has waned since the 1990s, and is now understood by residents to be solely in the hands of the municipal companies. This fact not withstanding, there are still places in cities – typically adjacent to these buildings – that residents spontaneously take care of. Some municipalities are aware of the fact, and have even attempted to encourage people to take this responsibility into their own hands, or tried to legalize the gardening conducted in this gray zone by launching so-called“greenery adoption schemes.” Still, there are plenty of instances in which people garden in public spaces outside of these structures. 
As it turns out, the instances of residents’ interventions in public open space via gardening in Brno and its surroundings are mostly of a decorative, rather than of a productive, character. At this point, we can only hypothesize about the mix of possible factors behind this phenomenon: is it the relative availability of other productive gardens? Is it the fear that fruits and veggies will be stolen or spoiled if not fenced off? Or do these gardeners fear accusations of attempts to privatize public space for their own gain? Or does the very design of public space — and the real and assumed regulations forming it – deter prospective gardeners from sowing and hoeing? In fact, these are questions which only surfaced as our year-long research came to its conclusion. Nevertheless, bottom-up and top-down radical initiatives in some U.S. and Western European cities, such as Incredible Edible (in Todmorden, UK) or the Edible Cities Network, are showing that it is perfectly possible to grow fruit trees and vegetables –  even in the streets, in public parks, and in other public places. Sometimes, initiatives of this kind are conceived as an artistic project, such as Fritz Haeg’s Edible Estates or Jonathan Baxter and Sarah Gittins’ Dundee Urban Orchards.  
While so far we have focused on different strategies of“inserting” agricultural rather than horticultural practices in urban contexts, looking both at artistic and“hands-on” approaches in which to do so(they often merge), it is also important to mention the fascination of some contemporary artists with the presence of wilderness in the urban fabric and their version of“gardening” with “elements of wildness” in their artworks.  Artists with backgrounds in contemporary visual art, such as Helen and Newton Harrison, Lois Weinberger, or Abraham Cruzvillegas, worked outside the landscaping context and took weeds, ruderal plants, plant societies, and plant  succession cycles both as their material and the concept to work with, while critically entangling the resultant artworks with particular types of urban places.  
“Ruderal gardens” can take on a form of a memorial,, a portable ecosystem superimposed onto a sterile architectonic order, a fault line running through otherwise meticulously maintained park vegetation; a meadow ecosystem can be saved and transplanted onto a gallery roof to serve both as an education piece and as a future seed bank for the city parks. 
The above-mentioned examples of artworks use plants that we associate with nature and chaos breaking into urban order. Annual plants, ruderal weeds, and shrubs populate abandoned lots, voids in an otherwise organized city structure. A research team around Radan Haluzík comprising  social scientists, natural scientists, theoreticians of architecture, and artists dedicated their research project to such voids, which they have called“vague terrain.” In their understanding, it is land deprived of function, the“dark matter” filling up the space between urban structure, the“inverse city,” the chaos complementing the order of urban planning, and 
its role as the“leftovers,”, terrain which is precarious in space or time. 
It is in this context that we wanted to reflect on and respond to spontaneous gardening interventions in Brno and several other locations.
 
As we conducted our preliminary research, we came across several interesting instances of gardens or spaces which were probably not cared for within the greenery adoption schemes. The gardens and plantings which we have chosen to focus on  are, in most cases, not typical but exceptional, such as the“railway gardens” or the“tree stump” flower pot.Unlike most front gardens, they are peculiar, due to their location, their composition and/or planting schemes, their scale, or the methods of those who garden in them. Apart from these spaces, we found out about other interesting gardening examples through a Facebook discussion group called“Street Gardeners from Brno and Beyond” where our social anthropologists – Hana Drčtičková and Anastasia Blokhina – used the first stage of their research to analyze the general mode of discourse in the above-mentioned fFacebook group. Their aim was to observe what kind of ideasthe users pursued about gardening in public space and, gardening practices, as well as the motivations both for carrying out  these practices and contributing to the discussion.  In the second phase of their research, they looked  for gardeners who would be willing to share their insights both about their gardening practices, about their relationship to public space where they acted, and about their emotional ties both to that space and to their gardening. Hana and Nasťa sought out the diversity of practices and informants, which the Facebook group helped reveal. 
They also interviewed several other gardeners who were recommended to us. In total, they conducted fiveinterviews, completed by other two carried by the author of this introduction.
In our artistic projects, we were interested in exactly those types of spaces, either intervening in them or depicting them as landscapes(meaning the artistic genre) via the language of contemporary art. Lucia Bergamaschi made a soundscape evoking a long-abandoned space behind an abandoned factory which has been grown over by shrubs and pioneer tree species. Despite its location in the city center just a few  meters from a busy street, it is an oasis of wildlife; Lucia’s art is an attempt to extend this oasis —  even if only via an audio recording — into the street itself. Nela Maruškevičová was preoccupied in her project by vacant lots around Brno and by the plants populating them. She collected seeds of the ruderal plants and later planted them in small  boxes —  each box representing one site and only the mixture of plants growing there. She placed these boxes in the courtyards  of three important city galleries so that visitors could observe the life cycles and beauty of these plants directly, in“cultured” places where they would not be expected to exist. Kateřina Konvalinová started with the observation of a guerilla gardening intervention on Mánes Bridge where someone planted rosemary in a long-abandoned concrete planter that was part of the original architecture. She connected it with a folk song about rosemary growing on Prague bridge, composed her own version adapted to Brno, and planted a rosemary plant near a railway bridge in Brno called unbelievably The Prague Viaduct. Barbora Lungová has been remaking  the weedy fringes of a(no longer) new parking lot into a lush flowering garden for several years and has now documented it in an autoethographic text. She also visited several other sites in public space on which people have been gardening in various ways and documented them in  texts accompanied by photographs by Polina Davydenko.
From the onset, our primary goal was to make an audio guide with a map of a route that would be possible to complete in a few hours on foot. We invited  Ivana Balcaříková, a member of the SocialMaps collective, which is  developing a map app providing collectively created maps. Their aim is to remake the mapping process into a social activity and provide users an authentic experience of places. The collective cooperated for two years with Galerie ART for whom they created audio walks with diverse themes. The application on which users can now use to walk along our route will in the future host audio walks with other topics as well. Iva  designed the route and the application, and also served as  layout artist for this exposition.
The final route, with twelve stops, encompasses gardens of some of the respondents we interviewed, but also maps instances of guerilla gardening whose authors would be very difficult to find, unless we wanted to spy on them. For those locations, we have included only our textual interpretations and photo documentation. The more interactive artistic interventions can be found at four locations on the tour route in Brno’s city center. These were created by three of our team members – Nela Maruškevičová,Lucia Bergamaschi, and Kateřina Konvalinová – as a response to particular sites of“vague terrain” with their typical vegetation and atmosphere. This exposition at the Journal of Artistic Researchalso includes two sites which are not included in the map for the audio guide. One of them is a short auto–ethnographic 
text on the experience of street gardening in Kyjov, a small town near Brno, written by Barbora Lungová. Another one is a text describing a very peculiar front garden in a small housing development in Senica, a Slovak town near the Czech border. We hope that despite the fact that our virtual tour is not fully comprehensive, we have managed to cover different aspects and approaches to spontaneous gardening, both from a more“utilitarian” and a more“speculative” perspective. 
A note on the terminology. We use the term“spontaneous gardening” rather than“guerilla gardening,” as the latter term is frequently associated with social and political activism. With the exception of two or three cases, the gardening practices we focus on or enact ourselves are not executed with those aims primarily in mind; the gardeners do not grow“despite" circumstances, but take up the opportunity or a potential a place near them offers.
For those of you who find yourselves in Brno, you can walk the route and listen to the twelve recordings on www.socialmaps.app.
 

3. The Gardens

Hana Drštičková, Anastasia Blokhina


The gardens in front of apartment buildings are often created "invisibly." Most people never ask themselves who actually takes care of them. One such front garden that we included in our research is the result of care and attention from several generations of older women the sort of people whose work, often nursing or care work, gendered work, receives the least appreciation. And this despite the fact that they often occupy a crucial position in the local community, and possess knowledge that would otherwise disappear. One area of this knowledge is that of plants, their species and cultivars, their history and their needs. The women are able to pass this knowledge on precisely by maintaining the semi-public space of the front garden with specific types of plants that they have kept alive through physically demanding watering and weeding. The sight of these plants infuses the surroundings with evidence that these women exist (that is, if the view of the garden is not blocked by some car parked on the sidewalk or halfway into the flower bed, as is often the case, and which causes a great deal of anger). When we talk to the current caretaker of the front garden, we are amazed at the amount of knowledge about plants that she manages to put into her torrent of words. In addition to their physical form, a seemingly endless world of names and descriptions of different varieties and subspecies of flowers, herbs, trees, and shrubs is revealed to us. And not only the official, common names, but mainly local and popular names and nicknames, collected across generations, family, and friendship networks. These names can be secret, half-lost, forgotten even by the gardener herself, they can express affection and the relationship between man and plant across time, they can be intimate, formed by experiencing diversity in taste, in ripening time, in texture. We capture at least some of this name-knowledge in the recording.


Recording (transcription): 


A long cactus... it’s blooming beautifully 

 

Zwetschge plum not round

 

“Große Knorpel” cherry tree good, very good 

 

Sweet honey greengages

 

Greengage, which currently fetches a pretty penny 

 

Three pear trees that shaded to keep the duvets cold, until they ripened at Christmas

 

Cockchafers Maikäfer you have to shake them off 

 

That’s marjoram, it's not a weed 

 

Peonies on the procession to the little church, where flowers were scattered 

 

Son wanted a fig tree 

 

Black currant, white currant, red currant, and jostaberry that’s like gooseberry

 

The golden fig gooseberry, it’s not hearty, it may not survive 

 

Blueberries in containers, they look more like currants 

 

The cherry laurel, which was supposed to be an orange tree, fell this year, that was a lot of work

 

In the summer, we went out for pinecones, it was enough to warm up leftovers from lunch. Wood chips, softwood, and hardwood if you’re baking danishes 

 

She liked the rose of jericho, it stretched out along here

 

A normal, ordinary wild rose 

 

Cherry laurel, such a tiny one 

 

Crocuses for government money 

 

Snowdrops, the big ones, snowdrops that really grow in the snow (there’s not much snow anymore)

 

The blue ones, what are the blue ones called, they have leaves like chives, grape hyacinth 

 

Rosebud, that was put under glass, two buds in the ground and two under the glass and they took hold

 

The pine that was planted when my grandson was born 

 

A beautiful white rose with many separate flowers, some kind of fancy breed

 

A laburnum, sometimes it takes root if you put it in a vase 

 

Lemon balm, mint, from time to time I give them away

 

If the tomato has a black spot, we get on it right away

 

Garden cosmos, it's back in fashion now

 

There were plants that suddenly died they were little red and white bleeding hearts

 

Black elderberry, a whole field 

 

That was an herb or something medical-like

 

Autumn blooms 

 

Ordinary twigs 

 

The seeds look similar to carraway

 

Autumn chrysanthemums

 

Superstar flowers that people put here three generations ago 

 

I’m glad that I put sunflowers here 

 

Common, standard irises

 

Echinacea for immunity

 



1. Vídeňská/the Albert supermarket

Bára Lungová


This location represents evidence of new spontaneous plantings of fruit trees in the vicinity of Vídeňská and Reneská streets. The immediate surroundings of and around the Hluboká tram stops are interesting due to the existence of historical plantings of solitary fruit trees, which may be dated back to the first postwar decades when the small housing estate was built nearby, or maybe even to slightly earlier times when this was an agricultural and industrial landscape. Generally, fruit trees are absent from public space in cities – both in this country and in Western Europe. Nevertheless, I still have fond memories of times in my young age of growing up in a small South-Moravian town where many streets were lined by alleys of pear or cherry trees in the 1980s and 1990s. (House construction and plantings occurred simultaneously in those streets in the 1920s and 1930s.) Within the Czech Republic, policies concerning the planting of fruit trees in open public space vary widely. While some cities actually encourage volunteer citizen gardeners to plant fruit shrubs and trees in open public space according to the so-called “greenery adoption schemes,” other cities either actively ban such trees (within their greenery adoption schemes), or they themselves avoid choosing edible taxons in openly accessible public greenery. The typical arguments they present include more demanding care (pruning, the cleanup of rotting fruit), or hygiene (fruit might get spoiled by dogs, other people, etc.).

Some of the possible spontaneous interventions reacting to this taxonomic lacuna can be seen in the activities of a loose international collective of “Guerilla Grafters,” who graft fruit trees onto decorative ones. 

The young trees featured in the audioguide were apparently planted in a rush, with a minimum effort of soil preparation and minimum financing (no protection against damage; the tree size indicates a possible domestic origin). Well, let’s keep our fingers crossed for them. 

2.  Hortus Vaguus (Pekařská St.)

Lucia Bergamaschi


On the collapsed roof of a long-abandoned distillery, urban greenery has flourished. A new wilderness is reclaiming space that was once the subject of human construction, blanketing it with time. Access to this green space takes place through a section of the distillery that stands to this day. These two parts are separated by a wall that functions as a gate between that which is abandoned and that which is preserved, between order and chaos. Communication runs through the cracks, the holes in old pipes, and the broken bricks. Medieval enclosed gardens (horti conclusi) and paradise gardens depicted in Gothic paintings served as inspiration for the project. My research then shifted  toward understanding how these spaces are delineated and perceived in broader (legislative-administrative) contexts. The key starting point for this research was finding out that this space was  designated in the Land Registry of Brno as ‘other’ land.

As stated in the Explanatory Report of the Gardening Act of 29 October 2019, lands designated as ‘other’ in the Land Registry are often appropriated for gardening activities, thus contributing to the development of green spaces for the broader public benefit of gardening. In her essay ‘Zahrádkářské osady v urbanistickém kontextu měst’ (Gardening Settlements in the Urban Context of Cities, 2021), Lucie Miovská noted that since 1989, the definition of ‘allotment gardens’ has fluctuated between development areas, production areas, and allotment sites, without considering other directions such as ‘sites with recreational or social, ecological, and urbanist significance.’ Another, more recent reference is the concept of ‘vague terrain’ where vagueness is both ‘absence but also the possibility of flourishing, a function that a given place in the city could potentially acquire.’ The only thing ‘vague terrain’ lacks is the city’s own productivity. Vagueness thus relates to the function we ascribe to a space. In the case of vague terrain, it refers to ‘places without an apparent function’ or ‘places deprived of function’ that we tend to repair, to fill up – through reconstruction, revitalization.

The first work of my project titled The Garden is on Fire involved an event where plants from the rooftop wilderness were collected and roasted. It was an intervention intended on the one hand to connect with the nearby unreclaimed greenery (vague terrain) and on the other hand reflected an attempt  to ritualize non-places, the way public vague terrains are predominantly used. According to Byung-Chul Han, non-places become places through a connection to a space in a time. This makes them social, such as in the case of festivals and ceremonies.

The second, subsequent part of my research, the Vague (Sound) Garden, comprises a work that uses sound to appropriate the hidden urban garden, and bring life to the street – in this case, Pekařská. The work is situated in a specific time and space, acknowledging the current state of the area where urban wilderness has appeared. Three months of sound recordings enable visitors to now experience the garden's space as if they themselves were standing in it. Simultaneously, the sounds of the garden recorded and heard on the journey from Old Brno towards the Brno’s center provide a counterpoint to the noisy, asphalt street almost devoid of greenery. This encounter fosters listeners’ reflections on the mutual interaction between nature and the city, and emphasizes the importance of preserving existing green areas in our urban landscape.

Introduction to the anthropology research

Hana Drštičková, Anastasia Blokhina

 

This is a brief case study of a Brno Facebook group for “guerilla” or “street” gardeners. We analyzed visual as well as textual content on this community's site, such as pictures depicting its members' own gardening achievements or acknowledging those of others, text-based posts describing the frustrations that come with this kind of gardening, and comments that encouraged people, gave them advice, or chimed in about similar experience of difficulty. 

 

As we strolled and scrolled through this online street-turned-garden, we first tried to decipher what the foundations of this group's shared worldview were, what ideas they shared about the "ideal," "correct" world . What we found could be characterized as, first of all, pride in not being indifferent to nature. This includes plants, animals, and also each other. However, this lack of indifference did not seem to go too far beyond the boundaries of the ingroup, and what we would consider to be desirable nature. 

 

Furthermore, there is definitely a shared interest in cultivating aesthetics, in creating beauty, which is done in synergy with nature, which was described both as fiercely independent and in need of human care. A narrative of a largely invasive, destructive humanity was prevalent, but individual humans (namely, the ones doing the gardening) were good and admirable. 


Publicizing the Leopard's Bane

 

We then asked ourselves another question for our research: what satisfaction do the gardeners in the group expect from their activities, and what satisfaction do they actually get? We found that a lot of joy came from their work being appreciated by strangers, regardless of whether they passed by online or irl. The framework of social media allows for more opportunities to show appreciation, especially for work in a place where volunteer care and beautification often remains largely invisible. Posts with pictures of thriving plants that the posting member painstakingly cultivated (such as the titular Leopard’s Bane, a cheerful yellow flower) are quite often worded modestly, yet show a parental kind of pride. This, together with descriptions of the obstacles and the quirks that the plant, the gardener, or both together, have had to overcome signifies a kinship formed between the gardener and the “gardened.” Many members of the community explicitly mention a connection between plants and children, whether by comparing them to offspring, or stating that “doing it for the children” is one of their motivations. The precarious position of a guerilla gardener, however, adds a sense of militant defense for the plants (that face many dangers) to this relationship. Such threats include those from the city’s groundskeepers and gardeners, whose removal of these intentionally planted flowers from public green spaces is often seen as a prime example of the aforementioned indifference. However, this attitude also fails to fully take into account the workers’ own precarious (economic, existential) position. 


When the water gets too hard to carry

 

The next two points of our interest were the guerrilla gardeners’ position in society and their relationship to public space, as well as their relationships with each other. The public spaces adjacent to the members’ residences in particular seem to almost be an extension of their homes, and therefore any modifications are generally viewed as righteous acts. That applies even if these acts defy the authorities (usually the city officials). This effect may be increased if they claim local expertise, situated knowledge, associated primarily with long-term residence or property ownership sadly, nobody in the group asks about the knowledge of unhoused people. This aspect class thus plays an important role; the role of gender is important as well. Many posts talk about the need for emotions and a sense of connection and empathy in public spaces. Flowers are considered to be bringers of joy where there is little of it otherwise. Another area in which gender plays a role is that of informal sharing of knowledge, especially between generations. Middle-aged to senior women are often bearers of horticultural knowledge, and the Facebook group serves as a space to share it with younger enthusiasts. This exchange of information, advice, and experience therefore also might somewhat alleviate the sadness that members express about the limitations of aging bodies – as watering cans become too heavy and bending over for weeding becomes an impossibility for the older members of the group, they might find solace in guiding younger members toward gardening success. A certain sense of nostalgia for better, greener times is definitely present on the website, although whether it reflects the impact of the climate crisis, for example, or whether it is rather a result of a romanticized vision of the “more natural” past is unclear. The gardeners in this particular Facebook group, however, do not remain entirely passively nostalgic. Group members often encourage each other to actively participate in local politics; (fitting) grassroots organizing on a small scale, including solidarity actions, resource sharing, and plant swaps, as well as emotional support are all at the very core of this community.

5. 6. 7. To Fend Off Blindness

Nela Maruškevičová


Desolate urban clearings, street medians, abandoned plots, neglected areas. Overlooked sites which turn into tolerated “lands of asylum” of ruderal plants and wild green undergrowth. For the majority of people, such locations become nearly invisible, despite their omnipresence. Still, every day we pass by them – or through them – on a daily basis: we walk our dogs, we sit on benches, or we park next to them. We reflexively take them for granted. Weeds grow everywhere, but we apparently don’t find this to be very interesting. Plant blindness in practice. Is it possible to make these plants visible in any way? Can their aesthetic and structural qualities be appreciated to any extent at all? 

With these thoughts in mind, I decided to create profiles of six sites in Brno. I regularly gathered the seeds of ruderals growing in these “lands of asylum” and consequently planted them in simple planters. All these weeds, more or less typical, represent the specific attributes of each place and represent its botanical character. I then complemented the atmosphere of the location by recording audio recordings in which I articulated my own impressions of the moments when I recognized the plants and gathered their seeds. 

I believe that art can play an important role in reevaluating the relationships between people and plants, hence my decision to place the planters in three courtyards of various galleries in Brno. Such places are sanctuaries, offering an environment for reflection and  serenity that people typically do not experience in most types of other urban public spaces. Almost any object placed here acquires an aesthetic value and – even more importantly – a space to negotiate a dialogue with the viewer  – something a ruderal plant does not typically have privilege to enjoy. 


First location


Zvonařka, an old bus station located on the corner of a vast green space. Behind the cracked platforms, there is a small weedy spot. Practically unnoticed, mostly used as a shortcut. 

Provaznický hill is located in the vicinity of St. Anne’s Hospital. It looks inconspicuous despite the fact that is it’s the only green space on Pekařská Street. 


Second location


One of the larger lawns on Cejl is located directly in front of the Ponávka swimming pool. Now and then, someone walks by, cars are parked in a short distance. most of the time people avoid it. 

There is a long strip of greenery lining the cycling lane by the bridge over Svitava where Křenová Street changes into Olomoucká Street. Most of the time the strip is green, sometimes it is red because of poppies. 


Third location


Under a billboard placed at a crossroads by the Zimní stadion stop there is a patch of green alongside which the trail to Bobycentrum continues. Another shortcut. 

The last place is squeezed between Moravian Regional Library and the Law Faculty. 

Three highrises in a  construction site on the other side cast a shadow here. 

4. The stump

Hana Drštičková, Anastasia Blokhina


Guerrilla gardening makes it possible to trace the diverse goals and motivations behind the individual actions of gardeners. Cultivating plants or other making other gardening interventions that take place in a “no-man’s-land” (or maybe a “no-woman’s-land”) may be driven by a desire to aestheticize the surroundings, to use an “unused” space, to carry out environmental or political goals, etc. If nothing else, guerrilla gardening is a potentially adventurous and creative endeavor, especially because it is situated in a kind of gray area of legality. It stands outside institutional structures and thus requires discovering and creating untrodden paths, looking at the space around oneself "differently."

Such an adventurous approach to guerrilla actions has been taken by a local group of friends who, during their irregular nocturnal gardening interventions, transformed several tree stumps in Brno's Lužánky Park into flower pots. In these pots, they grew selected plants with varying degrees of success. Like many of their (and not only their) guerrilla ventures, this one is marked by its fragile, temporary nature, which stems primarily from the absence of a wider (institutional or other) network of care that usually surrounds and sustains urban plant life. When such care is only provided by individuals, the likelihood increases that the plants (which are particularly vulnerable in urban environments) will fade or wilt. The spatiotemporal instability typical of human beings going on vacation, moving from place to place, getting involved in different relationships and schedules often leads to the abandonment of cultivated areas. Still, life in these areas carries on.

8. Rosemary on the Prague Bridge

Kateřina Konvalinová


If you happen to be in Prague and are walking Godknowswhy on the right bank of the Vltava, let yourself be carried by the current of tourists towards the Mánes Building, or the former Mánes Building, to be exact. The building itself is not particularly interesting these days, but nevertheless, you can find a delightful little manifestation of civic gardening just a couple steps away. It’s a huge planter, an element of the Jirásek Bridge’s massive architecture. In fact, there are three or even four of these planters, but I have not been able to find the fourth. Each of them lives its own life – but that is another story. Today, we will focus our attention on the one in which someone had planted a rosemary plant, which in turn allowed an old, well-known folk song to become a living legend. 

However, we are standing by the so-called “Prague Viaduct” in Brno, where these two places meet in time and space via a sprout of rosemary. 

If you pass by, you can tend to it a bit, and hum the following song in the meantime: 


And on a bridge in Brno/

Rosemary is growing/

No one brings it water/

But it still is growing/

It is always growing


When you walk on past there/

You can bring it water/

It will bloom and be green/

And continue growing/

it will bloom and be green/ 

And continue growing/


Rosemary 

Is growing

10. Flower pots 

Hana Drštičková, Anastasia Blokhina


The issue of housing is an aspect that also shapes gardening practices. The lack of a private plot of land on which one can grow plants can trigger an impulse to seek alternative ways of caring about flora, for example by intervening in public or semi-public spaces such as front lawns, grass fields, urban concrete planters, or by surrounding oneself with houseplants in private space. The situation is complicated by the instability that the current housing crisis has brought about. Private ownership is becoming completely unaffordable for most people, especially in cities, which means they are forced to rent. Some examples from abroad have shown that even renting can bring stability and effectively address such a basic need as housing is. In the Czech Republic, however, this sphere is poorly regulated, housing is treated as a commodity, rent prices rise disproportionately fast compared to income, and rental housing carries a risk that the tenant will have to leave in a very short time. In such circumstances, where there is no certainty of staying in one place for a long time, it can be difficult to form an emotional attachment to cultivated plants on terraces, yards, or front lawns connected to the rental property. One of the tenants of a house on Vranovská Street copes with this impermanence by using portable pots in which he grows common garden plants. The plants can thus move with him if necessary.

9. Špitálka

Bára Lungová


This  is a strictly productive garden, where yields are maximized through extremely efficient permaculture methods. Strawberries, garlic (allium sativum), and daylilies (they’re edible, did you know that?) grow between the corn stalks and gypsywort spreading out along the railway embankment. The gardeners grow beans of uncommon varieties, herbs for seasoning, lettuce, even a loquat tree. Aerial maps show that the garden has been in existence for about ten years.

12. Slatinka

Bára Lungová


This  garden in Slatina/Slatinka is located just next to the railway tracks by two signal houses. The railway worker who created the garden was originally a schooled gardener with several years of practice who later in his career changed jobs and started working with the railway company. His gardens have been the result of continuous everyday thinking, planning, and manual work, which he has been carrying out for about a quarter of century. Mr. Š. created the garden primarily for an aesthetic purpose - he looked at it constantly during his daily routine as a signaler. However, he does not want to keep the pleasure just to himself, and he often thinks of the passengers on the train or the bikers passing some of the flower beds that lie next to the bike path from Slatina to Šlapanice. 

The railway garden contains plants which require high soil quality – daffodils, tulips, strawberries, cucumbers, onions, or tomatoes. Since the only thing that was there originally was concrete debris, Mr. Š. had to dig out the beds, line the holes with chicken wire (as protection against moles, which were his nightmares), and fill them with high-quality compost and mulch, which he had made from poplar leaves he brought on a wheelbarrow from a distance of more than a hundred meters. The individual beds are composed in a grid pattern. The beds that Mr. Š. built next to the cycling lane are surrounded by colored gravel which he periodically weeds chemically. The aesthetic aspect of the beds is a very serious matter for Mr. Š. He aims at combining the colors of the flowers and the other used materials in what he sees as the most spectacular way possible. 

11. The Sedláčkova Edible Park

Hana Drštičková, Anastasia Blokhina


Public space is always interwoven with flows of power that shape its character; it can be seen as a battleground for the interests of various actors. One example of such a battlefield is Sedláčkova Edible Park.

The park began to emerge in 2014 as an attempt of a few people from the neighborhood to make use of a piece of land that had not been managed by the local government administration, and thus had a form of “terrain vague,” a place without a clearly defined function. Prior to its transformation, the overgrown, sometimes impenetrable, unmaintained space was mainly used as a shortcut between other points, as a transit space. For some (mainly homeless) people the undergrowth provided a refuge precisely because of its oblivion; nevertheless, these people were never included in the debate about the use of the place and its future more generally. This insight adds its own separate aspect to this story when thinking about terrain vague such as this.

Thanks to intense efforts of some of the local residents, the area has taken on the form of an Edible Park over the last few years, in spite of bureaucratic and communication obstacles from the local government. The area has been cleared of litter, overgrown shrubs have been trimmed back, pioneer species of woody shrubs have been removed and replaced by fruit trees, a pond was formed, which was particularly useful in the drier summer months, cultural events have been held here, etc.

However, the Sedláčkova Edible Park will most likely disappear soon, to be replaced by an architect-designed park that will be centrally maintained via official structures. The attempts to bring the park under management of neighborhood groups have so far been unsuccessful. Even so, and perhaps because of this, the Edible Park presents a fascinating case study of a guerrilla gardening project that goes beyond the common minor interventions in the landscape, and brings questions about the very nature of public space and the right to intervene in it into mainstream discussion.

Out of town stops: Kyjov

Bára Lungová


I moved to my present studio in 2012. It is a disused heating station, which serviced the surrounding apartment buildings. The area was redeveloped just on the eve of the fall of the communist regime in 1988/89. Before that, it was a street of village-type housing with large gardens. This area is just a two-minute walk to the town square, but looks as if it was a suburb. The two parks which were incorporated into the urban design of this location in the 1980s have been built over in the last two decades: a new apartment building was constructed on one of the previous parks in the early 2000s, and a parking lot replaced the other park in 2014. The rest of the patch of green was “revitalized,” (as the city council jargon says) two years later, making it another small parking lot. In other words: when I started renting the boiler house in 2012, it was completely surrounded by greenery, and now it sits in the middle of two parking lots. 

When it comes to inhabitants’ preferences for parking places or trees, the former always win. It is a pattern that has unfailingly repeated itself in my hometown over the years. A bunch of people try to protest, but the loud majority, supported by the council administration, always favors the maximalist reconstruction plans, which destroy the majority of lawns and trees and includes the maximum possible number of parking spaces. 

Before the space directly in front of my studio was rebuilt into a parking lot, I cultivated a small garden composed of wild grasses and a semi-formal flower bed. (I did it guerilla-style, just taking over the space gradually.) Before the reconstruction, I even organized a public gathering in the place itself where I had invited people from the neighboring houses to see the plan of the reconstruction (which the city council did not care to publish online), to enjoy some music and cake, and to fill in a questionnaire in case they wanted to express their opinion of the plan of the reconstruction. Despite the fact that I delivered answers to the city council by nearly fifty respondents, of whom almost four-fifths were against more parking lots, the council organized their own gathering, where loud supporters of the parking lot prevailed, and construction started just two months after the public hearing. 

When the reconstruction was finished, I started planting shrubs and plants in the spaces that planners had left for greenery (I actually negotiated some of these spaces – at the time, I was a backbench council member of the city government and a member of the environmental advisory board to the council. The board’s view of the parking lot-vs.-park dilemma had been passive, i.e., silently supporting the parking lot). I planted several rambler roses and a climbing vine, and gradually started expanding with my “garden” into the large parking lot. I have since created a flowering border, which now contains 45 varieties of chrysanthemums and 15-20 iris varieties, combined with other plants which complement the irises in their flowering season. This year, I have planted about ten more rambler roses and a young acer tree. I want to bomb this desolate space which was a park just ten years ago with beauty, even if it is just at the fringes. 

As I do the gardening, I often interact with people. Several of the neighbors regularly chat with me about everyday things including my plants, the weather, or other small things; other people comment on the plants or the aesthetic aspects of the borders, or even ask me for plants in some cases. Sometimes they comment on the fact that some people pluck my flowers (I don’t mind as long as they do not damage them; in fact, if this is something that can brighten their day, then my garden is all the more purposeful). Different people come near my studio. There is someone who uses it as a free gardening center, and customarily steals my potted seedlings and cuttings which I grow just below my studio windows. Then there is the occasional pair of teenage girls who sit and chat between my flower pots; once I saw them kissing. After that, I put a rainbow heart sticker I got at some Pride march on the window, just to tell them they have chosen the right spot for their dates. 

Out of town stops: Senica

Bára Lungová

 

I discovered these front gardens when I was staying in a nearby hotel on Nádražní street. A row of small apartment blocks built along the street in the 1950s is lined by a rather wide stretch of lawn, a fence going alongside it, a sidewalk, and front gardens between the sidewalk and the fence in some cases, parking spaces in others. The situation apparently differs according to the negotiations among the flat owners themselves in the respective buildings. In some houses, the creative gardeners only had improvised flower pots at their disposal (because the rest of the space was taken up by parking spaces); some of the neighboring houses boasted such a display of creativity, diversity, and even coziness that one would rather expect it in a private garden (the aesthetic being rather closer to an allotment garden than a sober, manicured garden found in modern, single-home residential areas). In this particular front garden, documented in Polina Davydenko’s photographs, there is a miniature lake, a plastic statue of an old woman (asking for a contribution for garden maintenance – in my view), a miniature ruin built of bricks, a garden clock on a trellis, the obligatory bench, a tank for water storage, and a whole array of plants - there must be at least a hundred different species and varieties of them. The feeling of this space conveys a strange confusion between public space – it is squeezed just between a sidewalk and a strip of lawn which separates the housing area from a road. At the same time, you have the feeling of being inside someone’s garden because of the density of the creative inputs, the plethora of plants and trees, and also because of the fence separating the garden from one of its sides from the rest of the street. However, you never pass through any gate while walking past these front gardens. The fence might be a relic from some former spatial arrangement around the housing area, but is not very functional at present.