[Moving through] Buddleia

Moving through Buddleia is the working title of an experimental film that I am currently developing, prompted by the recent loss of my home. For nearly a decade, I lived as a property guardian in a former school in South East London; the longest I have lived anywhere in my adult life.

My home was in the shadow of the tall Victorian school, in an annexe block in the far corner of the playground. Over the years, the playground surrounding me was reclaimed: a forest of buddleia took root, moss covered the asphalt, silver lace vine crept across walls and roofs and clouds of herb robert billowed from cracks in the concrete. Buddleia plants sculpted the space, knitting together into dense hedgerows, forming archways and a tunnel; splitting through rubber asphalt, some buddleia stood alone, like tall trees, with thick woody trunks that developed over many years. In the heat of summer, the mass of plants cooled the atmosphere, creating a distinct microclimate. As the playground was transformed, it became home to many others: birds, squirrels, foxes, a cat, a wide variety of insects and a solitary bat.

From 2015-2024 I documented the site, and since 2017 it has been central to my creative practice. ‘Moving through Buddleia’ will build on my earlier work but will be more substantial. Buddleia plants will be a guiding structure for the film, and I will consider how myself and the non-human residents of the playground moved through the buddleia which surrounded us all.

 

 


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[Leaving] False Widow

 

On the last day, amongst the final clearing and sorting, I was bitten by one of the false widow spiders.

Rushing around, with a million things still to do, I felt a sore spot on my leg and noticed an unusual puncture mark.

The next day, I felt drained from the physical and mental exhaustion of the move. Getting out of bed, I brushed my calf; hot, pulsing pain engulfed my leg.

False widow spiders only bite if they feel threatened.

The purple bite had a red circle radiating outwards from it. I had a flashback to seeing one of the familiar conker-coloured spiders lying on its back, legs in the air, between Ikea bags and cleaning products.

In nearly a decade of living with the false widows, I had never been bitten by one. Now, in the last moments, I had been.

It felt symbolic, as if all the stress and emotional pain surrounding the move had manifested physically, concentrated into this hot, throbbing spot.

For the first week after leaving, it ached every day.

 


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