inspiration
It's amazing how the traditions of art and craft tracing back through centuries still inform today's designs. That's particularly true in the field of garden ornamentation, where modern statuary, fountains, vases and seating elements take their cues from original works found in ancient Greece and China, in Renaissance Italy and France - and from just about every other era and location around and between. This depth of available imagery is both a boon and a challenge to those in the business of supplying garden ornaments to today's architects, landscape architects, watershapers and their clients. There's just
With few exceptions, the most satisfying projects we've undertaken through the years have come when our company has gotten involved with talented architects or landscape architects - and sometimes both - as part of larger project teams. We embrace this sort of work and enjoy taking a role as a resource for other professionals. Through the years, in fact, these collaborations have developed to a point where many of those we work with will automatically call us whenever one of their projects includes any sort of
Every year, it seems, I'm asked to teach more and more classes on how to build streams, waterfalls and ponds that look natural. I enjoy conducting these sessions for local supply houses, landscape architecture firms, community colleges and other organizations and find it flattering that they value what I know. My motivation for sharing, however, is less about ego gratification than it is about my awareness that there's no way a single company can build all of the naturalistic watershapes consumers want these days. To me, it's a matter of collective as well as personal interest that these watershapes be built to function well and look great. In Colorado in particular, I also see a need for work that appears completely and distinctly natural, simply because most clients here are accustomed to seeing remarkable beauty in the countless alpine settings that grace this beautiful state. Indeed, it's a fact of professional life here that the work must mimic nature closely or it just won't fly. That can be very good for business, of course, but only if more than a few professionals hereabouts are up to the challenge. Available projects range from those that use thousands of
In my years as a practicing landscape architect, I've found that designers love in particular to borrow elements from the Spanish Colonial style of architecture. In fact, it has become one of the most important and influential of all architectural forms. This archetypal architecture flourished between the 16th and early-19th centuries in the New World and is based upon historical models established in
Water is one of the few artistic media that has the ability to define the architecture of human emotion. In all its various forms, it has affected us in profound ways since the dawn of our species, generating powerful feelings and the sense that we are somehow transformed when we're in its presence. As watershapers, we have an ability to use that long anthropological and cultural heritage to our advantage and can actually change the world: The spaces we create will, if done well, generate experiences so powerful that all who enter these environments will forever be changed by the encounter. I see this as both a wonderful opportunity and a solemn obligation. We can take the rich history of water and all its cultural reverberations and essentially use this symphony of tradition and creative impetuosity to compose new experiences for everyone who sees our work. If it's our intention to change the world for the better - something I personally have always held in mind - we do our best when we base our work on traditions assembled throughout human history. Working in that context, we not only gain access to the insights of the geniuses who have gone before us but also
Working as a watershape designer, I'm always a little bit taken aback when people come up to me and say they're so amazed by the work I do and that they know they could never do anything so creative themselves. It's all part of a common perception that so-called "creative" work is produced only by people who were born with a particular talent. Frankly, I don't agree with that perception. As I look back over my career and review the work of others, it's clear to me that creativity in design (or anything else, for that matter) is essentially a muscle we all can develop. Sure, some people have natural abilities that give them a boost, but the essence of creativity has more to do with the way you go about pursuing it than anything else. Along those lines, I recently finished reading Cracking Creativity: The Secrets of Creative Genius by Michael Michalko (Ten Speed Press, 2001). This terrific, 300-page book tackles the nature of
I've always been conservative when it comes to guaranteeing my work, which is why I only offer a 300-year warranty on my sculptures. I'm fairly certain that the vast majority of my pieces will last well beyond that span, but there's always the possibility one might be consumed by a volcanic eruption, blown up in disaster of some sort or drowned when the ice caps melt and cover the land with water. Those sorts of cataclysms aside, it's hard to imagine that the massive pieces of stone I use to create what I call "primitive modern" art will be compromised by much of anything the environment or human beings can throw at them. Ultimately, that's one of the beauties of working in stone: It possesses a profound form of permanence - and there's a certain comfort that comes with knowing my work won't be blown away by wind, eroded by rain or damaged by extremes of heat or cold. And given the fact that these pieces are so darn heavy, it's safe to say that most people are going to think at least twice before trying to move or abscond with them. Beyond the personal guarantees and despite the fact I don't dwell on too much, working with stone also has a unique ability to connect me and my clients with both the very distant past and the far distant future. Human beings have been carving stone for thousands of years, and many of those works are still with us in extraordinarily representative shape. There's little doubt that those pieces
Just as nature inspires art, I believe that art can inspire landscape professionals to "paint" themes and moods into gardens. Claude Monet's work is a striking example of this unconventional relationship between art and landscaping, a connection explored fabulously in Monet the Gardener (Universe Publishing, 2002), a collaboration between Sydney Eddison, who writes and lectures on gardens; and Robert Gordon, a leading authority on French Impressionism. Together, they delve into Monet's obsession with his famous garden at Giverny, describing his fixation on flowers and the struggles he had in creating his lily pond. Included are letters from Monet, members of his family, journalists and writers from the late 1800s, all of them chronicling the artist's choices among
As the first columnist among several who will be writing in this space, I've been elected to explain what this "Material World" thing is all about. I agree with the editors that it does require some explaining - but not much. The thought is that we in the landshaping business, designers and installer alike, seldom use a single material all on its own. Even a huge, monolithic concrete deck outside a grand office building will have ribbons of stone or brick to break up the monotony. The aim of this and subsequent articles - whoever writes them - is to discuss the process we go through in selecting plant and/or hardscape material combinations that ultimately work together to become beautiful and seemingly effortless explorations of style, texture and color. In other words, we'll be looking at projects for which all the
"No matter how sophisticated you may be, a large granite mountain cannot be denied - it speaks in silence to the very core of your being." - Ansel Adams The man considered by many to be the father of American landscape architecture often referred to himself as a "garden maker," a self-description by Fletcher Steele that influenced me greatly when I first saw it in a book about him in 1990. When I think of the word "making" on its own, I see images of human hands crafting cherished artifacts or offerings, while the word "garden" conjures a host of images from Eden to Shangri-La. Taken together, however, the words evoke even more powerful images of the deliberate shaping of places of great beauty and serene repose - an apt definition for any landscape professional. When I borrowed those
