2026-05-24 · Telegram (in Russian), t.me/iliathoughts/636

The park that did not realize it was a park

A friend of mine, a photographer, walked me through his Tashkent.

The very center, a small river, but the part that has not been landscaped. A natural path through the city, which is what a river has always been for cities. It is great that it has already become a place of attraction: people walk, spend time, hold photo shoots, even though it is not an official park. A working public space, but without a status. A park that has not yet realized it is a park.

That is its strength. The canal, concrete cascades, rusty rebar, thickets, a path that breaks off in places: all this gives a texture that a proper park will never have.

There is a human scale here: you can go down to the water and touch it. A space without a single script, where everyone makes it their own in their own way.

A place becomes lived-in not because someone said so from above. Appropriation from below gives a more durable culture of place. A graffiti on a pipe is a contribution. An inscription on a railing is a contribution. A trodden path to the water is too. People have already invested attention and time, and the place has become theirs.

But the improvers will come, lay granite tiles, put up identical benches and "euro-renovation" style lamps, cut down the wild vegetation, close access to the river ("what if a child falls in") and surround it all with a fence with wrought patterns. And kill exactly what makes the place alive.

The best thing to do with this space is literally the minimum: clean it, strengthen the path where it is really collapsing, add a couple of places to sit, not benches but a stone, a beam. Leave the rest.

Not to landscape, but to legitimize what exists.