Impressions from The Tree House Gallery,Chapter one,maybe?

Beguiling wordsmithery will probably obscure meaning. The grumbling giffer sponsored to attend a rendez-vous in the Tree House Gallery. Mizelf and the late lamented Toby Izlington that was. I found him well enough though much constrained by the narrow chest and shoulders of his ill fitting jacket. The thin disguise of bowler hat and stripey socks did nothing to hide his true secret identity, I recognised him immediately. The black and white photo iz almost a true likeness mores to my regret. I saw him smiling more than once , I did a bit of that myself on and off. Between little chats and long ones which somehow I felt I had to retain the thread of, distractions were found amongst the daily visitors. There were occasions when I felt like a target for question marks. The world could do with a few more definitive statements, thinks I. The backyard in the park , would be well to find a permanent location for the gallery tree houses. An inner city adventure playground perhaps.
I had read much of the available publicity on Google, various views from t’other side of the clipboard discussion forums. One eyed camera images . A lot of sponsors links on the web page. The format and style of the electronic medium can look really posh on the screen. I gleaned what information I could . My darling little boy had spoken of “ad hoc group”, “dynamic”,“paradigms”. I didn’t want to go. The weazly jargon conjured images of a small band of influencial networkers pressing other peoples buttons in order to “make something happen”. The back garden summer camp served as a place to meet friends and mingle, perhaps make new ones. Occasional hordes of supervised playgroups stormed the installation looking for action,they were it for me. Stressed up supervisors did their best as did many parents to conceal fears for safety. The adult neurosis frequently transmitted to the children gave many parents the opportunity to perform the role of rescuer putting aside their own anxiety. They invariably didn’t but at least they got a chance to feel brave. I pity the children of the paranoid parents. My playground as a child was a ten mile radius of unsupervised adventure. We made our own treehouses and dens, monkeyed up trees and craggy rock faces, pushing ourselves as far as we could dare. “Dangerous” made playtime exciting. Confidence was gained by not having a worried mother or fathers arms to fall into. Bicycles didn’t have stablisers in my younger day. “ Get out and play, and don’t come running to me for sympathy when you’ve broken both your legs.” My caring father’s words still ring in my ears. An ex soldier and a miner, he was conditioned to face challenge and risk with a brave heart. One write up spoke of ariel walkways, they would have been popular for sure, aiding children to overcome the fear of daring do,may in some small way give the confidence in later life to not need backup or a weapon when out in the big bad world.Ariel walkways were sadly omitted.
The Sound Garden gave the opportunity to give something a damned good thrashing and make a truck load of noise at the same time. I saw a number of dads making the most of their playtime, all kids together big and small, with no one to tell them to be quiet. You wouldn’t have heard them if you did. Whacking modified oxygen cylinders and square sectioned steel “tubular bells” with sticks. Pounding out surprisingly tuneful rythms on a xylophone drum with trainers or flip flops. Amid improvised drums,wheel rims and steel barrels the cacophany of Chaos ruled. My message to the inhibitted parents who just stood at the perimeter and watched,”Put your play clothes on and get stuck in,it is your adventure too”.
An upright piano bore a lot of unrestrained ,many handed violent abuse,as well as scores of “Merrily we roll alongs” and the more ‘advanced’ “Chopsticks”. A piano with only black notes would have been less painfull. May have helped introduce more children to the principle of harmony. The noise was endured in good spirit. Adults visited the suffering instrument to perform their various party pieces. I witnessed a fine opera singer with an acompanist, they made pleasant sense of a balmy evening. A young man performed classical pieces attired in baseball cap baggies and a ringed eyebrow. His people were well proud to hear him play. It was all the more pleasant for the lack of formal dress. Once in a while someone belted out some Boogy or some well worn blues riffs. Avant garde experimentalists composed instant rhapsodies, everyone who wanted to got a chance to strut their stuff and do their thing.
Regents park provided the nearest thing to fresh air that London could afford. My mission was to visit my son and to sponsor my stay by busking. I chanced to play for twenty minutes or so in the underpass by Baker Street station. The monoxide level was too much for me,the brief burst on me flute in my old stamping ground left my head banging in short order. The air was gritty with carbon. Unfit for healthy human habitation sez I. It is much worse now than in my younger day,I won’t be doing that again unless I am accompanied by a canary.
The little fair in the park was a small respite from traffic but did little to distract me from the poor air quality. I live in the country, in a farming region in Brittany. I was homesick for my more humane environment the moment I disembarked from the Eurostar train.
I had become unacustomed to crowds, not meeting more than a handful of folk over a couple of years with whom I could converse. I have been fully engrossed in projects in my home garden, silent for the most part save for the companionship of my wife Anne-Sophie content enough with that. I spent some peaceful times chattering with Paul who had brought his carving tools . Whittling over the two week period that I was there from pieces of green wood many small items of treen, including slingshots a whale and a most impressive aireoplane. His children raced around amusing themselves with benign mischief most happily and tirelessly , visiting mam and dad regularly for refreshments. The charming and most talented family was a good reality check. People visited him at his labour to talk and try their hand at whittling,spoons were a good number to gain some initial practice. I longed to be home making progress on my own workshop space. My own Pocket knife was misplaced borrowed or stolen within two days of my arrival at the event. Someone spent time rummaging through my bags to relieve me of my camera. The few photos that I have were on another memory card. Fool I was to trust. The updating of the website was neglected I thought I might make a small contribution as the “roving squirrel reporters” were evidently out to lunch. Too bad I lost some good pictures there. I had promised a young Brazilian boy Lino and his parents a copy. His folks took photo of their son and I talking. we were to exchange pictures . The memory of the occasion will have to do.
The instalation itself ? I guess I am hypercritical, I voiced my views regularly enough,it would be mean to belabour them further at present. One thing struck me about Pim,a Dutch sculptor’s constructions. Used as shelter for the “office” and cover for the piano. As light faded the form of the two shelters were reminiscent of traveller’s vardas,roll top wagons. I would have prefered to see the real thing pitched peacefully in the park. with perhaps gentle lamplight and a well tended cooking fire. The eyestabbing blue electric torches did nothing to endear me to the modern idiom. It ain’t natural It ain’t pretty and it ain’t healthy.
The reading gallery housing”Ed’s collection” of books was visited by many scores of curious adults and children, the majority of whom appeared more interested in the tree house. Who could blame them. For most children and adults alike books are rainy day stuff or something we do when we have peace alone. Several times I tried to read story out loud a dead loss trying without nailing childrens feet to the floor. Bedtime stories are for bedtime,not for sweltering summer days. A picture gallery would have been more appropriate . Remember Kieran,chocolate eclairs taste much better when you keep your mouth firmly closed whilst eating.
I was told that much of the materials were paid for by the core workers themselves a handsome gesture. Materials also collected from resource centres some from skips. A pile of dome tents were however being canibalised , destroyed to be remade into temporary cover for the large tree house. After two weeks of cutting and sewing little evidence of the proposed work being any where near completion. The tents would have served better if they had been given to people to use for their intended purpose . A longer lasting utility at least.
Having spent some nineteen years out of fiftyeight, homeless,though not idle by any means the sight of good useful equipment being wasted on a temporary vanity I found hard to bear.
I didn’t come to Regents park to run away with the fair I have seen a vast amount of that stuff since 69. The event upstaged my associating with my son Toby William Godden to a great extent.It didn’t escape notice that I wasn’t invited to even see the place he claimed was his present home. I hope the undynamic facade of Izlington wears off soon. The young fellow I fed and cared for would have a more meaningful and satisfying life without the duality. I did enjoy the company of many of the workers there ,admittedly some strong words were occasionally uttered, nothing too serious, I can hold me own against drunken people and social energy vampires. I gave my address and Email to a few good folk, with an invite to stop by if they were ever around my way. No one reciprocated I must be too scary or maybe their permanent addresses are at home with parents who would know. The prospect of Gareth bringing Seven in his van will I hope wait until I have had time to reaquaint with my son. He might chance by here on his own or with a friend in the meantime . I just hope Toby is as good as his word. Enough temporary distraction enough delay, there is permanent work to be done that won’t be achieved by looking at the screen or ligging with the party people.
Well I am gratefully back in my own domain. much neglected work to do in the garden. Weeding and sowing of green manure. There is plenty of good produce to eat for the coming year in store and more yet to be harvested. My good woman is glad to see me back earlier than expected not too worn out from my journey.The few pictures I have prior to my camera disappearing will have to serve there will be no more for some considerable time. Content yourselves one and all with a boring read.