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For years, I refused to eat tangerines and oranges because I hated the seeds. It was too much work to peel off the rind and then sift through the sections and pull out the seeds before finally getting to the juicy, delicious part of the fruit. I opted instead to get my Vitamin C from other sources. One winter several years ago, my attitude changed after I was handed a Satsuma tangerine. Surprised at how easy it was to peel and even more stunned by the absence of seeds, I savored the fruit's sweetness and enjoyed a more natural form of vitamin intake. In fact, I found myself devouring
When I teach seminars on watershape design, I always emphasize the importance of having a list of questions to ask prospective clients during initial conversations. It's a point that always seems to ignite discussion - and it usually ends up with someone in the audience asking me to provide such a document for general use. I always refuse to do so, not because I consider my approach a trade secret, but rather because everyone's business and approach to clients is a little different and the questions I ask might not be exactly the questions everyone else would (or should) ask. The issue has come up frequently enough through the years, however, that I've finally assembled
When I teach seminars on watershape design, I always emphasize the importance of having a list of questions to ask prospective clients during initial conversations. It's a point that always seems to ignite discussion - and it usually ends up with someone in the audience asking me to provide such a document for general use. I always refuse to do so, not because I consider my approach a trade secret, but rather because everyone's business and approach to clients is a little different and the questions I ask might not be exactly the questions everyone else would (or should) ask. The issue has come up frequently enough through the years, however, that I've finally assembled
Through all my years of working on WaterShapes, one of the most persistent frustrations I've encountered has had to do with the ongoing lack of access would-be watershapers have to college-level education on the subject. And it's a frustration shared by landscape architects, many of whom have told me how rankled they are by
Through all my years of working on WaterShapes, one of the most persistent frustrations I've encountered has had to do with the ongoing lack of access would-be watershapers have to college-level education on the subject. And it's a frustration shared by landscape architects, many of whom have told me how rankled they are by
When I was a kid, the conventional part of my education in environmental design came in helping my father, Jay Stang, plant parkways and blocks of Pinus Pinea across the city. The unconventional part - the part that apparently took firmer root as I grew up - had me admiring the plate he'd made from hardwood with the dozen split avocado pits he'd carved and mounted on the surface; it also had me listening to my mother, Judy Campbell, tell me that the earth was here first, that the garden already exists and that pathways, watershapes and structures are best built around what we find there. Those unconventional lessons - one about creativity and vision, the other about respect for nature and a method for approaching it - have stayed with me through the years and have given me access to a number of incredible projects. As is the case with most intriguing and fascinating designs, the one seen here flowed from a client with whom I developed a close creative connection that resulted in a free exchange of ideas¬ - a synchronized spontaneity that became a pattern for the entire design process. She always had strong thoughts about what she wanted, but she allowed me to interpret and express her ideas based on our conversations and the nature of the site. As designers, it's not unusual for us to be called on to use our skills and figure out what a client such as this one really wants and then suggest ideas we think will work. I call this process "environmental psychiatry" because, while so many clients have a sense of what they want and a laundry list of general ideas, few have a
When I was a kid, the conventional part of my education in environmental design came in helping my father, Jay Stang, plant parkways and blocks of Pinus Pinea across the city. The unconventional part - the part that apparently took firmer root as I grew up - had me admiring the plate he'd made from hardwood with the dozen split avocado pits he'd carved and mounted on the surface; it also had me listening to my mother, Judy Campbell, tell me that the earth was here first, that the garden already exists and that pathways, watershapes and structures are best built around what we find there. Those unconventional lessons - one about creativity and vision, the other about respect for nature and a method for approaching it - have stayed with me through the years and have given me access to a number of incredible projects. As is the case with most intriguing and fascinating designs, the one seen here flowed from a client with whom I developed a close creative connection that resulted in a free exchange of ideas¬ - a synchronized spontaneity that became a pattern for the entire design process. She always had strong thoughts about what she wanted, but she allowed me to interpret and express her ideas based on our conversations and the nature of the site. As designers, it's not unusual for us to be called on to use our skills and figure out what a client such as this one really wants and then suggest ideas we think will work. I call this process "environmental psychiatry" because, while so many clients have a sense of what they want and a laundry list of general ideas, few have a
As custom watershapers, we all know that each combination of client and project presents a unique profile with respect to scope, design goals and the overall mission. In the project seen here, however, that common formulation was elevated by virtue of the fact that we were working with an accomplished architect on what was to be his own home. He came to the table with strong, distinct ideas about style and project direction, but he was also willing to collaborate with us when it came to the details and practicalities of developing a watershape composition that suited both his needs and a spectacular setting. The property - a gently sloping two-acre lot - is located in an exclusive neighborhood in San Marino, Calif., and our work there took place in concert with construction of a gorgeous new home in a classic Mediterranean style. My company, Arcadia Pools & Spas of Arcadia, Calif., had worked with the architect before on a fountain for a commercial property, so we