construction
I'm always looking for projects where I'm brought in to design the entire exterior environment, complete with hardscape, planting plans and watershapes. Working this way gives me a straight shot at integrating all of these major elements into cohesive designs that fit the setting. But I believe in collaboration, too, and in giving interested clients an opportunity to participate in the process. I listen carefully to what they say, factor in their budgets and then start working toward a suitable design. This integrated approach often requires intensive and extensive interaction with homeowners. Through it all, I'm flexible - but I'm also confident in my abilities, experience and expertise and generally end up installing something that closely matches my sense of the way things should be. When it works, everything goes smoothly. In the case of the project pictured in these pages, however, the process has been much more involved and is, 18 months into it, still ongoing in
If you're a watershaper of any kind, odds are that you build concrete slabs. You build them to create decks, set up equipment pads, establish sub-bases for finish materials - and for a variety of other essential construction purposes. No matter the application, it's important to build these slabs to last, which invariably means building them correctly. This isn't something that's important just for mega-buck projects: No matter whether you're working on $20,000 cookie-cutter pools or on custom projects at the very highest level, knowing how to
Home to some of the world's greatest outdoor spaces, Kyoto, Japan, is a garden lover's heaven. If you make the trip, however, there is one garden that stands above all others - an aesthetic treasure, a nature-inspired garden masterpiece that is quite possibly the most beautiful place I've ever been. Owned by the Japanese imperial family, Katsura Rikyu (pronounced kah-tsu-rah ree-kyu) is an estate in Western Kyoto near the Katsura River. Rikyu means "detached palace," but that translation is a little misleading to English speakers, because the estate does not
It's a grand watershape built at a time and place when "grand" was in fashion in so many ways. Ever since 1940, when the Raleigh Hotel and its beautiful swimming pool opened to the public for the first time, the establishment has made a statement about the sun-drenched glory of a prime South Florida location as well as the glamour of an era gone by. Designed and built by renowned architect L. Murray Dixon, the hotel and pool are located in South Beach, Miami's famed Art Deco district. The pool's curvaceous shape and modern styling reflected the hotel's architecture and the aspirations of the times. As the '40s wore on, it would become a swimming pool that was perfectly in sync with the world around it. When Miami boomed in the years following World War II, the hotel did, too. Vacationers and snowbirds from the great cities of the Northeast arrived in droves, looking for a new kind of excitement and an entirely different sort of glamour of the kind that featured
Without any hesitation at all, I can say that Gardening with Water by James Van Sweden (Random House, 1995) is one of the most influential books on design that I've ever read. It's currently out of print, but it's certainly worth a hunt and can still be found on the Internet and in many technical bookstores. All through its 206 beautifully illustrated pages, Van Sweden carefully details his approach to designing with water - an element he says should be used in some form in every garden design. Along the way, he covers his firm's use of swimming pools (natural and architectural) as well as birdbaths, fountains, small watergardens and large ponds. It's an important book from a tremendously influential designer. In fact,
One of the skills of a good designer is the ability to recognize those situations in which less is more. The detail pictured in these pages, for example, shows how the choice to go with a small volume of moving water (as opposed to a torrent) can add immeasurably to a composition's visual strength. Using this understated approach helps the designer or builder avoid what has become one of the biggest clichés of modern pool design - that is, the outsized waterfall spilling over a single weir from a raised spa into an adjacent swimming pool. My desire to get away from that monotonous
The Getty Center is a true multi-media experience: imposing architecture, lots of people, incredible materials of construction, amazing views, diverse spaces, rich and varied sounds - and it's mostly all a bonus, because none of this has much to do with the Los Angeles center's core functions as museum and research institution. Designed by architect Richard Meier, the 750-acre campus is dominated by outsized structures wrapped in travertine, glass and enameled aluminum. It's all a bit cold (maybe time will soften the sharper edges and
Lately I've been finding myself in what seems like a fairly unique position: On the one hand, I work as a design consultant for architects and as a designer for high-end customers; on the other, I work as a builder executing the designs that customers and their architects choose. In this dual capacity, I've been able to gather a tremendous amount of input from construction clients and transfer it in one form or another as a consultant. I also have had the opportunity of seeing how decisions made in the design process play out during the construction process. Seeing both sides has led me to certain conclusions, chief among them
Throughout recorded history, great societies have built monuments to celebrate their victories, commemorate their tragedies and express their guiding ideals. Through creation of these great works of art or
It's one of the most famous buildings in the world, but few people know that Frank Lloyd Wright designed Fallingwater in a matter of hours. In 1935, when Wright first received the commission to design and build a vacation home for Pittsburgh retail tycoon Edgar J. Kaufman and his family in Mill Run, Pa., he didn't get to the project right away. After several months of preliminary discussions and delays, Kaufman decided to force the issue, telephoning the architect and saying that he was going to visit Wright's studio to see what had been done. It was at that point Wright decided he'd better design the house. He had a weekend. The construction process was no more direct, but it took longer. Work began in 1936 and was completed by 1939 in a series of costly fits and starts. The project was originally set to cost in the neighborhood of $40,000, but the final tally rose to nearly ten times that amount - not inconsiderable in post-Depression America. The result of the dramatic (and, at times, traumatic) process of design and construction is nothing less than one of the greatest achievements in American architecture, a work so compelling that it never stops
