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rednile projects are working in partnership with Stoke-on-Trent City Council and artist Anna Francis to produce a series of events and activities around the Festival park site to celebrate the last 25 years and to look forward to a positive future for the next 25 years.

The theme of the 1986 National Garden Festival in Stoke was “Art, Architecture and Landscape Design” and around 120 new works were created by 100 artists, including Antony Gormley and Vincent Woropay, Dhruva Biswas and Denise de Cordova.  rednile have commissioned a series of new artworks and activities inspired by the original National Garden Festival artworks that will be showcased at a series of events around the site in April and May 2012.

As part of this a brand new map of the Festival Park green space has been produced. This map traces what is left of the original Festival Gardens and reveals how you can continue to explore and use this beautiful secret garden. This project has been made possible with the kind support of St Modwen.

National Garden Festival Park, Stoke-on-Trent  New Map: Map side 1, Map side 2

Commissioned Artists/s:  Little Earthquake, The Golems (performance/theatre), Ruthie Ford (visual artist Gardener and guerrilla Knitter), David Bethal (visual/performance artist)

Inspired by: Factory Night @ Stoke National Garden Festival site

Little Earthquake, The Golems

Saturday 5th May, 10am-2pm

The Golems is a walking tour of parts of Hanley, Festival Park and Stoke which gives people an opportunity to visit and learn more about some of the sculpted figures dotted around the area. The key pieces on the tour were amongst those commissioned for the 1986 National Garden Festival, and other pieces relate closely to the history of the Festival, the park and the city.

On Saturday 5th May, The Golems will launch with two guided tours, on which people can join me to see some of Stoke’s sculptural treasures firsthand. On the same day, The Golems website will go live from which everyone can download the maps and notes to be able to do the tour for themselves whenever they like.

Places for the launch day tours at 10am and 2pm are free, but capacity is limited and advance booking is essential. Places can be booked online through our easy-to-use Eventbrite pages, which can be found here:

For more information on the project, the company and our work, visit Little Earthquake’s website at

Ruthie Ford: Giant knit and Crochet Flowers

Saturday 14th April, 12-4pm

My work will see the creation of giant knit and crochet flowers. This work is a continuation, exploration and development of the series of giant crocheted and fabric craft daffodils which I made last year which were displayed in shop and library windows and then toured summer musical festivals.

The new work will be installed on a hill in the National Garden Festival Park overlooking the retail park during an event in April. The work will explore using the giant blooms to engage the public with the world around them by encouraging the viewer to look up at the flowers and wonder what lies beyond.

The choice of flowers and the stitches and patterns used to cover them are inspired by the magazine Woman’s Weekly who sponsored two of the gardens on the site during the 1986 festival; a cottage garden and a wildflower garden. Woman’s Weekly, among other things, regularly features knit and crochet patterns and gardening tips. This connection appealed to me as it is present in my work; using traditional textiles crafts to explore the natural world.

David Bethell, Staked Against All Odds

Open to the public: Saturday 5th May, 3pm -5pm & Sunday 6th May, 10am-3pm

The artwork consists of a performance that takes place during and out of the normal working hours. A man sits working at his office desk but quickly becomes distracted and restless wanting to break away to another location and new possibilities.  The work looks at blurring the boundaries between man, nature, and the modern working environment. The work responds both to the sites past and present use, looking at the contrast and conflict between retail and office environments against the landscape that was originally designed for the garden festival site.

Anna Francis, Festival Park Tours

Saturday 5th May, 2:30pm

Artist Anna Francis, founder of the international ‘There is Beauty in the City’ project and board member of Airspace Gallery will be leading a tour of the Festival Park site exploring the remains of the themed gardens and commissioned artworks and talking about how the site has developed and changed over the past 25 years. This is part of an ongoing project which explores the impact of art and cultural activity on regeneration in cities.

Commissioned writing from Anna Francis and Emily Speed is a conversation between the Stoke and Liverpool National Festival Garden Sites, Anna has also written up the project on her blog see:

Emily, I am up on the garden festival site, near to the compass where Richard Wilson’s lighthouse was.

It is February, but a warm and sunny day. It feels like that moment just before the world wakes up, it has been a time of struggle and hardship, and much has been lost. But there is something in the air, as if it is the moment before a breath.

There are so many tiny birds, some I don’t know the names of. I can hear a strange mechanical tapping noise, like a hammer reverberating against a hollow drum. I have to walk right around the clump of trees before seeing a great crested woodpecker. He sees me and stops tapping, before disappearing. I am writing this from the clump of trees, hoping he will reappear.

Small sounds come from the undergrowth and make me nervous, snapping twigs. It could be an animal, large, a rat the size of a dog, teeth baring – about to jump out. I move on.

I am standing on the bridge over the rocky ravine, the bamboo has died-back over winter and more of the rock can be seen, a magpie coughs in a tree above. I see an old man with a boy and a dog in the distance. Something goes wrong with my ears and I can hear nothing but a high pitched whine, and then the sound is back. I suddenly notice the road noise and see the road through the trees, a car alarm, a lorry reversing, a constant hum of the city as it circles this forest.

A man passes me on the bridge, we look and then look away.

Just around the corner I come to the wooden spikes on the hill. There are only 6 left standing now. Again the feeling something is watching me from the brambles, dozens of eyes are trained on me. I am being stalked.

I go off track. There is something red hanging in a tree. A long ago boomerang. I am forced to take a lost path, the brambles and branches have taken this one. They grab at my coat and scratch at my face. I breathe as I regain the path.

But this is the wrong path and I have to double back.

This staircase compels me up, it leads to a round platform, perfect for viewing – what? Something important was here. This spot sends me back in time. I am wearing a jumper dress, my sister a shell suit, we salute each other, a mixture of girl guides and peace hippies. We were never at the garden festival, so I can only imagine other people like us, in hopeful sunglasses, and floral dresses, with a packed lunch in a coolbox, looking for a day out. It rained a lot in 86, but it was nobody’s fault back then.

Something has changed here, one of my landmarks is missing and a new path has opened up. It leads around to some moss covered stones like a mini ampitheatre. Back on the path I head towards the trig point. Suddenly the weight of 26 years is clear. This was a bare hill once, with a lone figure standing next to a column. The figure was misplaced some time ago, and has become a legend. Now this is an unnatural forest. A wild boar snorts and rampages at the bottom of the hill. I will take another route. Emerging from the trees I hear children yelling, cars, a crossing beeping green, and magpies cackling from every direction.

Standing between two palm trees, a family group comes from behind me, making their way towards what I know is coming; up and over the hill ahead. I linger here in the area which was the labyrinth. I could do with a broom to remove all of the leaves that have fallen on the round wooden feature.

The final remnant on my way out is the paved circle, with flying birds before a red sun. It is overtaken with grass, but seems right. This place belongs to the birds. At least it does today.

Emerging over the hill I am spewed out onto the retail park. Sunday afternoon shoppers milling about in and out of cars into supermarkets electrical shops, fast food outlets. I am back.


I have walked the perimeter looking for an entrance but the previous triangular hole I’ve always used is gone, replaced by high wooden boardings and signs covered with the developer’s name and idyllic images of a development currently halted by the recession.

On my way to the site, I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I drove past (like every journey) and saw that the carcass of the dragon slide was still standing. In my dreams as a 5 year-old, this was the centre of an underwater world in a reoccurring dream, which I glided around, barely needing to swim. The dragon’s mouth was part of a long series of red tunnels full of water that left me giddy even after I woke up, only slightly irritated that the whole of my primary school class had been there to share it with me. Only his head remains now, but his long neck used to be the best part. The site still has an oneiric atmosphere; dreamlike because it exists firmly in the past, in my past, as well as being here, now, in front of me. I feel sure Foucault would say this was a heterotopia linked to slices in time (past with the present and its potential for the future), a perfect example of one of these heterochronies1.

Cars stream steadily past, surprised to see a pedestrian where there are usually no signs of life. It’s a 30 mile an hour limit along there but I don’t think anyone is sticking to it, I can feel myself bristle on the narrower part of the pavement as each car displaces the air towards me.

My aunt had a job as a busker on the site during that summer of 1984, so I felt hugely important, like this connection gave me power and ownership over the site. My twin sister and I could go in free and spent much of the summer swanning around, sitting on huge pencil benches in an exotic glass palm house, eating funny feet and playing in the ball pool. We also helped Jill out with her songs. Our favourite went like this:

I’ve found a baby bumble bee, won’t my mummy be proud of me. (hold out hand to show bee with a huge smiling, proud face)

OUCH! I was stung by a baby bumble bee, won’t my mummy be sad for me. (react to an imaginary sting and show a very sad face)

I’m squashing up a baby bumble bee, won’t my mummy be cross with me. (grind hands together

I’m licking up a baby bumble bee, won’t my mummy be cross with me. (lick palms as you sing to distort the words)

I’m puking up a baby bumble bee, won’t my mummy be cross with me (exaggerating vomiting with noises, doubtful face).

The song appealed to our disgusting sides and we took special delight in licking our palms with the whole of our tongues, but there were so many bees and so many flowers, that it seemed made for that particular place and time. Now I can see long grasses and a few wild flowers, it’s a sparse landscape, raggedy and kind of torn rather than the plump, neat planting that used to be there.

Walking around the fencing I feel glad I can’t get in somehow, the distance stops the other, more colourful place getting eroded by the reality. It’s a liminal space, neither derelict nor rebuilt, it’s waiting for inhabitants and only half dressed. Without flowers, the brightest colour is the restored Japanese pagoda and tori, which still seem incredibly promising, like anything could happen in that part of the garden. A bit further along I come across the entrance gates and it feels like I could be anywhere, a theme park of the Giardini in Venice between biennials. I can just make out the Mersey across the park and it reminds me how much water there used to be here; fountains, a Blue Peter ship and the Yellow Submarine of course. I can’t place where they would have been, nor can I remember any real plan or ways to navigate the site – I was too young. Now it’s only a memory of excitement and a vague sense of vastness, both in the landscape but also in what was possible there. I decide I like it half-complete because it allows that possibility.

Heading back to my car (parked at the pub at the water) in warm sun – it was always sunny there wasn’t it? – I imagine the padded green arms of a massive liver bird hugging me as my face presses into its soft side.


1. Michel Foucault. Of Other Spaces (1967) Heterotopias.

This text, entitled “Des Espace Autres,” and published by the French journal Architecture /Mouvement/ Continuité in October, 1984, was the basis of a lecture given by Michel Foucault in March 1967.