(ii) The Middleground:
The central section of the garden is also the narrowest due
to the curvature of the copper-clad wall of the ‘drum’. The textures of the
garden were chosen to work together as a whole, but also to compliment the warm
play of light of the wall to the right. As the garden wraps itself around the
base of the copper wall, it is both anchored by and liberated by the wall
surface. The arc of the wall gives play and reason to the sinuous stream that
rushes down from the background section of the garden. This section of the
garden contains the other principle symbolic motif, the River Shannon.
The ‘real’ Shannon runs a few hundred metres from the
building. It’s presence has been instrumental in the situating and the design
of the building itself. Pedestrians arriving at the building may have just
crossed the Living Bridge. Entering the building one brings something of the
river with one, even just a memory. A river which is constantly renewing itself
carries not just water, but also within its currents runs threads of history,
and profound cultural and spiritual traditions.
In the garden the river is composed of several
interconnected sections. Beginning from the ‘sea’, a series of flat, plate-like
stones laid overlapping one another constitute the point where the energy of
the river is emptied into the sea. The river runs broad, deep and apparently
slowly. Situated just above the estuarine motif is a broad flat-topped stone,
which momentarily holds back the onrushing waters of the upper stream. This is
a Stone of Transition, which marks the evolution of character of an upland and
lowland river. Above this stone the body of the river is depicted by the close
set small pieces of black and white pebbles. Each of these pieces was set
individually. Looked at in detail the texture that results imitates the onward
rush of water. The surface being constantly broken by cross-currents, eddies
and backwaters, the flow splitting and rejoining, thousands of elements coming
together as one body. The banks of the stream are composed of large glaciated
cobblestones. With their soft, rounded forms they contrast well with the
angularity of ‘river’ stones.
Beyond either bank thick, impenetrable, foliage crowds down
to the river’s guarded flanks. The landscape through which the river runs
enfolds itself about the ribbon of water, they dance about one another. In the
garden the foliage is mostly composed of clipped evergreen azalea bushes
creating billowing forms of smooth, light green texture. If the viewer calls up
the memory of a tree-smothered hillside seen from afar, then this too is a
similar texture. In this section of the garden composition, the visual plane is
tilted toward the horizon in order to create a sense of distance to be
travelled, of time passing. The landscape through which the river travels is
soft and undulating. In Chinese terms this would be considered a yin section of the overall composition. The foreground,
in contrast, has the prominent stone triad and the sculpted tree, both strongly
accented on the rising, vertical, line, which gives that section a yang flavour. Thus rhythm is generated within the overall
composition.
There seems to exist several parallels between garden making
and music, in that both employ rhythm, light and shade, texture, harmony in
construction and crafted structures that give shape to a whole. Beyond this the
listener or viewer is invited to make the music their own, and in doing so the
music becomes alive and meaningful. It is a similar process with a garden that
seeks to express narrative as a component of its being reaches out to the
viewer. It’s a curiosity, that whereas music is apparently all movement and no
outward physical form; the garden usually considered just the opposite.
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