Nature’s Edges
The late Julius Shulman told me that he brought a palm frond in the trunk of his car to every photo shoot. He then would have an assistant hold the greenery in the frame as he shot his iconic images of Modernist Los Angeles architecture. The projection of paradise, which the single palm leaf represented to the world, telegraphed the good life, the temperate climate, and the easy/breezy quality of life in post-war southern California.
I also was fascinated to read about Roberto Burle-Marx’s hikes to find exotic examples of tropical plants. Many of the rare species were then introduced to his own property in Brazil. I have met people who participated in these outings and only wish I could have been there. As a disciple of Burle-Marx, I transplanted his idea of the jungle held at bay. The architecture sits among the plants — not the other way around, where the plants merely decorate the building site. Expansive glazing ensures that the garden is in the house. The indoor/outdoor principle of the Case Study Program (as well as the earlier “Sun Seekers” who came to Los Angeles for their health in the early 20th century, along with Neutra and Schindler) means that you are living in the garden.
I’m fascinated by the sculptural beauty of subtropical vegetation and its association with modern architecture in an environment where these plants thrive year-round. Los Angeles is a desert, so grass is dishonest and a waste of water. Synthetic grass always looks out of place to me, sometimes comical. However, I am not a formalist about using native plant material in a palette. Naturalism in the final design is certainly the desired effect, but if plants were brought to southern California a century ago and flourished, that is “native” enough for me. Eucalyptus trees, the cypress, and almost every palm, including the Mexican Fan Palm, migrated from around the world and are now respected local citizens.
The California-casual ideal is always in the back of my mind. Overwrought and over-thought hardscapes, plantings installed in too classical of an arrangement or plan; these do not work for our garden projects. Constellations of plants obey the same rules as furniture and design objects in an interior, in which elevations are scrambled so as not to look man-made. Where and how will trees and plants grow in the future? Where will their canopies end up? What kind of shade or sun does each species desire most?
These are the primary factors that inform the design. Palm trees are mostly self-cleaning and that’s a big plus. Pine trees, which need human interaction for trimming and shaping, do not fare well over time. Essentially, I let nature take its course. I try to lightly corral the living organisms into semi-organized zones, occasionally moving specimens if they grow too big, and I replace whatever is dead or dying. Nature’s edges are beautiful in their own right. All one has to do is get out of the way and ask the plants, where would they be happiest and who do they want for plant neighbors? Groupings, color contrasts, the employment of decorative rocks, studies of mass and void similar to interiors and architecture, leads the garden experiment to its final layout.
Richard Neutra, who always espoused simplicity in design, created a landscape plan for his Wirin House of 1949, which went unrealized until 2008 when I was brought in by designer and expert Mark Haddawy to create a garden for the house he had recently restored to perfection for the photographer Mark Seliger. Following the Neutra plan, ease and appropriateness were the driving forces for plant material choices; simple outer forms and graphic patterns were selected. The entry garden project was fully realized only after I found, while foraging around in my library, the original Neutra plan in an obscure German periodical. We used the antiquarian tear sheet as gospel, a guide for the new incarnation. Neighbors glowed as they came by, saying “great job!” and I kept responding “it’s Neutra’s original design.” After a while, I gave up on saying anything, as they stared back blankly. They did not need to know who Neutra was, as long as Mark Haddawy and I did.
In addition to Neutra and Burle-Marx I follow closely the ideas of Thomas Church and Garrett Eckbo, giants of mid-century modern landscape design. The buildings always feel at home. The plants always feel seen and heard. It is a natural process, like making music. There are diads and triads, harmony and rhythm. It is always a goal in my gardens to have the finished design look as if I was never there, much like the building restoration work. I want my participation to be appear silent, deferential to nature, always organic, hopefully culminating in an enchanted garden with a strong sense of surprise and delight. If there is design in it—it is nature’s natural edges.
