In The Winter Garden
A few years ago when the city was shut down and empty, I used to take long lone cycle rides in parts of London that were unknown to me, seeking an escape. One day in January, after cycling around Regent’s Park in the frost to admire John Nash’s terraces, I came to the winter garden.
It was late afternoon, the sun had set and dusk was gathering but, when I came upon the narrow gate leading through a rose arch to the garden, I could not resist exploring. Beyond the entrance lay a large formal garden once attached to a grand Regent’s Park mansion. It was divided by hedges into a series of hidden spaces like a labyrinth. I found the place empty and deserted, save a few lonely blackbirds. In the last light of day, I took these photographs.
I intended to publish my pictures and write about my visit then. Yet when I studied the photographs, I grew so enchanted that the experience barely seemed credible anymore. Instead, I kept the evidence of my melancholy pilgrimage to myself. Each year at this time, I revisited the photographs without finding any words to accompany them. On one occasion, I even set out to visit the garden again to verify my experience only to discover it was closed that day.
Contemplating these pictures now, they feel far away and I find it difficult even to remember the lockdown. It no longer seems real to me. Many are still struggling with the after-effects of that time yet when I look at these photographs I realise it is over. My pictures of this cold garden at twilight, with only a few plants showing, are how I shall recall it. The winter garden was where I found solace at the heart of the empty city.
Hylas
In the Rose Garden
The Sunken Lawn at St John’s Lodge
The Shepherdess Border
Snowdrops
The first primroses
‘To all protectors of the defenceless’
The Giant Urn
The Arbour Walk
St John’s Lodge Garden, Inner Circle, Regent’s Park, NW1 4NR
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My favourite photo is the arbour walk .
Beautiful post
Great photos!
I once worked quite near the gardens and used to visit in my lunch break sometimes, I’ve never seen it from that perspective though – very atmospheric!
What if I were to tell you that the reason you were keeping those photos to yourself was because the Winter garden does not exist and has never existed so on that winters day you were in fact taking photos of a memory that – Oh, hang on, I’ve just looked at a map. There it is. carry on.
The Winter Garden in a sombre & eerily respectful homage pays noble tribute “To all protectors of the defenceless” ..
Really splendid, evocative photos here that open a rusty hinged door into my own memories of what we used to call the Secret Garden in the middle of Regent’s Park. I first discovered it in the late 60s and often went there when I was hurting, or when I was happy. Most of the time it was empty, only occasionally were there any other people and they, like myself, were usually solitary. I think there was a mention of it in one of dailies some 20 years ago, and for a brief time there were more trippers coming and going. These private places are, more and more, disappearing in London, or being privatised, and I’m grateful for these beautiful photos pitching up in my inbox on this cold, gray morning.
Thank you for these Atget inspired shots. The vintage print effect is excellent.
Being taken in black and white and in twilight, these photos remind me of the magic lantern slides you present from the Institute archives. They do seem like a faraway dream.
GA, your way with words is a “given”; and WORDS are your keys to the kingdom. It seems only natural to me that you would want to “add” to these evocative photos with the addition of your unique words and sentiments. Yet, I love how the photos themselves have become the story tellers. Each one is full of captivating details that engage us, intrigue us, and prompt our own wonderings.
I love the composition of these images — the deep dark areas pull me into a reverie, and the sparks of light are thrilling.
Brilliant, as ever, GA. Many thanks
Very beautiful atmospheric, winter melancholy photographs.
GA, your sensibility and spirit are so often truly restoring.