installation
As a rule, those of us who build watershapes meant for purposes other than swimming or hydrotherapy tend to pursue one path or another: Either we make our ponds, streams and waterfalls look as natural as we can manage, or we establish them to reveal the hand of man either partly or completely. In that either/or context, successful design depends at least in part on being perfectly clear with ourselves about what we are trying to achieve. In assessing ponds of these opposing forms, it's my personal practice to look at both natural ponds and formal ponds (or, more accurately, architectural ponds) as being right on par with one another with respect to their potential for beauty. Indeed, architectural ponds can be incredibly appealing when done up in such a way that
As a rule, those of us who build watershapes meant for purposes other than swimming or hydrotherapy tend to pursue one path or another: Either we make our ponds, streams and waterfalls look as natural as we can manage, or we establish them to reveal the hand of man either partly or completely. In that either/or context, successful design depends at least in part on being perfectly clear with ourselves about what we are trying to achieve. In assessing ponds of these opposing forms, it's my personal practice to look at both natural ponds and formal ponds (or, more accurately, architectural ponds) as being right on par with one another with respect to their potential for beauty. Indeed, architectural ponds can be incredibly appealing when done up in such a way that
As a rule, those of us who build watershapes meant for purposes other than swimming or hydrotherapy tend to pursue one path or another: Either we make our ponds, streams and waterfalls look as natural as we can manage, or we establish them to reveal the hand of man either partly or completely. In that either/or context, successful design depends at least in part on being perfectly clear with ourselves about what we are trying to achieve. In assessing ponds of these opposing forms, it's my personal practice to look at both natural ponds and formal ponds (or, more accurately, architectural ponds) as being right on par with one another with respect to their potential for beauty. Indeed, architectural ponds can be incredibly appealing when done up in such a way that
Last month, I introduced my rundown on books I like to have at hand in my studio by mentioning a project that included a pool, an outdoor kitchen, stone walls, a fire pit and some other amenities. A feature I didn't mention - but one that may well be unique for a backyard in upstate New York - was the Peruvian Travertine we chose for use around the pool. While decking material seldom takes center stage in a design, its high visibility tends to make it more than just a bit player. Indeed, the choice of a material can either
Last month, I introduced my rundown on books I like to have at hand in my studio by mentioning a project that included a pool, an outdoor kitchen, stone walls, a fire pit and some other amenities. A feature I didn't mention - but one that may well be unique for a backyard in upstate New York - was the Peruvian Travertine we chose for use around the pool. While decking material seldom takes center stage in a design, its high visibility tends to make it more than just a bit player. Indeed, the choice of a material can either
In pre-Colonial days, the neck of the woods now known as Longwood Gardens was a hunting ground for the Lenni Lenape tribe, who prized the area for the richness of its game and timber. Once the British arrived, the land moved under the control of William Penn, founder (and namesake) of Pennsylvania, who sold it to a Quaker family by the name of Pierce in the year 1700. The family farmed the property until 1798, when Joshua and Samuel Pierce began planting an arboretum and the space that would one day become Longwood Gardens was born. Those of us living in the Philadelphia area have long enjoyed the privilege of having this resource in nearby Kennett Square, Pa. It's an amazing place, and I find my way there often because it seems that each time I go, there's something
In pre-Colonial days, the neck of the woods now known as Longwood Gardens was a hunting ground for the Lenni Lenape tribe, who prized the area for the richness of its game and timber. Once the British arrived, the land moved under the control of William Penn, founder (and namesake) of Pennsylvania, who sold it to a Quaker family by the name of Pierce in the year 1700. The family farmed the property until 1798, when Joshua and Samuel Pierce began planting an arboretum and the space that would one day become Longwood Gardens was born. Those of us living in the Philadelphia area have long enjoyed the privilege of having this resource in nearby Kennett Square, Pa. It's an amazing place, and I find my way there often because it seems that each time I go, there's something
As a sculptor, I always seek ways to use my work to create positive (and sometimes intellectually challenging) experiences for those who have the opportunity to see what I've done. In my case, most of the time I'm not trying to make direct, narrative or literal statements. Instead, I seek to conjure feelings of fascination that lead to appreciation and enjoyment: You don't necessarily have to understand the forms I create to walk away from them with good feelings. When I have the opportunity to work in public settings (as was the case in the project featured on these pages), I'm stimulated by the idea that large numbers of people will be exposed to my sculpture and that, in many cases, those people will be exposed to what I've done over and over again because they'll be passing by at least twice each day as they go to and from their jobs in adjacent buildings. In this case, I was working next to an office tower in Century City - a famous business and entertainment district near downtown Los Angeles - which meant that thousands would repeatedly be walking right past my work and would come to accept it as part of their daily lives. In that light, I see art set amid architecture as a permanent commitment, as a cultural reference that has the potential to resound for generations. This recognition fills me with a heightened sense of
As a sculptor, I always seek ways to use my work to create positive (and sometimes intellectually challenging) experiences for those who have the opportunity to see what I've done. In my case, most of the time I'm not trying to make direct, narrative or literal statements. Instead, I seek to conjure feelings of fascination that lead to appreciation and enjoyment: You don't necessarily have to understand the forms I create to walk away from them with good feelings. When I have the opportunity to work in public settings (as was the case in the project featured on these pages), I'm stimulated by the idea that large numbers of people will be exposed to my sculpture and that, in many cases, those people will be exposed to what I've done over and over again because they'll be passing by at least twice each day as they go to and from their jobs in adjacent buildings. In this case, I was working next to an office tower in Century City - a famous business and entertainment district near downtown Los Angeles - which meant that thousands would repeatedly be walking right past my work and would come to accept it as part of their daily lives. In that light, I see art set amid architecture as a permanent commitment, as a cultural reference that has the potential to resound for generations. This recognition fills me with a heightened sense of
You never know where and when a good time will unfold. That thought certainly crossed my mind late in July, when I attended "The World's Most Extreme Pond Build" at Aquascape's headquarters in St. Charles, Ill. That company, which manufactures a variety of pond, stream and waterfall systems and accessories, has been remarkably successful through the past decade: In that span, it's built a
