The Wilds Lost and Found

Testament to its resilience, the life story of an inner-city park embodies birth, growth, loss, endurance, transformation, and hope. In 1924, Johannesburg was gifted 16 hectares by the Witwatersrand mines. In 1938, The Wilds Nature Reserve opened to the public, predominantly visited by whites during apartheid. In 1994, President Mandela welcomed a new democracy to South Africa, yet during the transition The Wilds was abandoned as crime lurked amidst its foliage. The Wilds patiently waited, not giving up hope of welcoming all visitors inclusively for picnics on her lawn, yoga under her trees, and hikes to the sundial. In 2017, an artist took his dog for a walk, began pulling weeds, and rallied volunteers.

Volunteers cleared overgrowth, planted indigenous flora, painted benches, fixed fences, and voluntarily innovated art installations – as I have numerous times with yarn graffiti. For Mandela Day, I crocheted a butterfly and children played between its wings. On Spring Day, I planted a field of flowers and adorned a bridge with crochet blossoms. I wrapped crochet banners on tree trunks for the Love is Love global campaign. The 1st Tembisa Scouts climbed a majestic tree trunk and sang amidst my crocheted LOVE letters for the yarn balm rEVOLution. Then came the Garden of Yarns.

Garden of Yarns Overstory/Understory

The Wilds is a green overstory amidst a concrete city, embodying the understory of the Garden of Yarns. When tree fellers chopped Yellowwoods and Blue gums, eight trunks were rescued and placed in an avenue which offered me an inviting canvas for yarn graffiti. In March 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic’s lockdown bolted the entrance gates. The avenue of tree trunks stood bare for a year while my idea germinated, and I caught and survived the virus twice. The Wilds waited, not giving up hope until the gates unlocked, and her friends embraced their beloved park again. The Wilds offered solace, comfort, and rEVOLutionary love.

In 2021 after a year of isolation, handcrafters yearned for collaborate activations that would thread us together. As the idea innovator and craftivism facilitator, I invited fellow crafters to co-create a flower bed. Without ever gathering in-person, we handcrafted in our homes communicating via a text group. As gardeners, we sowed and sewed a gift for our community. There weren’t sufficient funds to cover materials, transport, or data at a time when many of us had lost our jobs mid-pandemic, yet we persisted as it was soul work for us all. Liaising with City Council and following protocols to prevent a super-spreader event was challenging. Amidst our garden, a mom and her daughter were mugged when the security guard wasn’t present. Yet, Garden of Yarns gifted visitors a real-life immersive experience at a time when we’d all gone online. The fibre flowers weathered the African sun and rain, their fading colours adding to their evolution. Garden of Yarns lived for a month before we unravelled it, saving flowers to recycle. The garden’s ephemeral lifespan was a transient reminder of the impermanence of the pandemic because our yarns are tellers of us.