A TESTIMONIAL

Creating my garden in Charlotte changed my life. Through this effort I discovered how design has power to impact those who experience landscape.

I transformed a third–acre yard of red clay into a veritable park. Its entry to one side of the house was through trellised roses and on the other, a gravel path enveloped by Camellia sansanqua, Camellia japonica, Nandina domestica, Albizia julibrissin, Magnolia macrophylla, and Taxus baccata. This envelope gave way to open, sculpted space which framed views from each room of the house. Unfolding garden layers stretched from the dining room to the creek along the back property line. In the center of the house, a screened back porch received visitors descending from its dining room. This porch served as a vista point. From it the whole garden composition could be absorbed.

Just outside this porch lay the terrace, replete with herbs growing in mortar cracks. Its irregularly shaped pieces of slate were balanced with a firm order in its border of Buxus sempervirens ‘Suffruticosa Dwarf’. A Viburnum macrocephalum initiated the border near the house. Inset in the terrace was a circular planting bed with a Juniperus communis, Hosta, and low growing Dianthus chinensis.

Lawn joined this semi–circular terrace–pad, stepping down to a planting island only a few feet away. Holding Acer palmatum, Rhododendron calendulaceum, Pieris floribunda, Tiarella cordifolia and Ilex vomitoria ‘Nana’ this space was of immediate interest for the garden visitor and screened the neighbor’s yard. Beyond this array, the edge of the property was defined, under the dappled light of the neighbor’s Quercus laurifolia, by Ilex opaca, Cornus florida, Rhododendron austrinum, Ilex vomitoria ‘Nana’ and a delightfully scented Osmanthus fragrans.

As yet more lawn stretched towards the creek, a thick stand of Kerria japonica gave background to the Rhododendron austrinum and added definition to the side property line. Towards the center of the yard and parallel to the house, a burm held Forsythia x intermedia at its center and Magnolia stellata, Camellia sansanqua and Spiraea japonica at its edges. As this burm edged toward the creek, it faded into a line of Eleagnus pungens. When it edged toward the opposite side of this property and encircled an existing Quercus laurifolia, it held a tall, dark Ilex opaca against a screen of Betula papyrifera.

This burm then diminished in height and melded into a planting bed on the far side of the yard as Leucothue populibolia softened its edges. The planting bed along this side was anchored by another stately Ilex opaca, bordered by Ilex vomitoria ‘Nana’ and used Prunus caroliniana to screen the other neighbors. Eventually this bed reached the Quercus laurifolia nearest the house, where more Ilex opaca and a Magnolia stellata thickened privacy edging the garden’s entry.

All of these additions served as under story for specimen trees in place from far earlier times, providing dancing dappled light throughout much of the garden.

A peace which passeth all understanding flowed from this composition. It engendered abundant inspiration. The effect of its presence was my guide as I studied design both at UPENN and UVA.

St. Peter’s Churchyard

GARDEN DESIGN

Property Owner	St. Peter’s Church
Time of Development	2002 ? 2003
Property Location	Society Hill, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Design Issues	Conceptual Design Study of Colonial Gardens: Forms and Plant Material Study of Architectural History: St. Peter’s Church Survey of Colonial Philadelphia landscapes: 18th century to present day Presentation to St. Peter’s Churchyard Committee Measured drawings of design space and its edges Planting Plan Plant selection and sourcing Installation oversight On-going maintenance

Design Concept and Strategy

The Shipbuilder’s Museum was a place for making small ships, exhibition style, as well as presenting the history of ship making in Baltimore. Shipbuilding had been centered in Fells Point during the 18th and 19th centuries, preceding the flood of immigrants disembarking at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries. Inextricably rooted in Baltimore’s development, Fells Point in 2000 was ill defined by any one category of use. Consequently the design sought to:

• anchor the neighborhood spatially,
• mark the neighborhood’s historical significance, and
• aid in reunifying the decayed Fells Point with Baltimore.

Vestiges of Baltimore’s ubiquitous townhouses were the nubs in Fell’s Point’s dense urban fabric. Still standing side-by-side, several in a row, they were in-filled with other architectural forms, however. That condition lead to exploration of spatial, experiential, operational and tectonic issues within a tightly bounded frame. Study model and pastel painting explored potential for the facade of a building to activate its interior with light when it shared common walls with its adjoining structures.

Baltimore Harbor became bounded by Fell’s Point when the early shoreline gave way to docks utilized by shipbuilders. However, the confluence of tributaries flowing naturally into the Harbor continued to define developed land’s topography at certain shoreline points. One of those constants was Baltimore’s City Dock. It became the site for the Shipbuilder’s Museum.

The Dock’s location also had other significance for this design. It was the only place where the newly designated Fell’s Point Architectural District, (that gained National Historic Landmark designation just prior to this study), overlapped one of Fell’s Point’s other noted sections. The later was the neighborhood which once held residences occupied by arriving immigrants. In 2000, the property was vacant.

The immigrants’ lives helped weave a rich heritage from this post, not only in manufacturing, canning, and farming but also in the service trades, enabling the growth and development of an elite segment of Baltimore’s economy and society. By placing the Shipbuilder’s Museum on this hallowed ground, the design sought to symbolically seam together pieces of Baltimore’s evolution.

Set at the water’s edge within a block edged by reconstructed traditional townhouses, the museum building had two faces: to the street its facade was of grand scale, in keeping with the side of Baltimore it faced; its back was of townhouse proportion, most familiar to the shipbuilders and their families.

A seam was created inside the Museum as well. A viewing gallery was inserted above and between exhibition space and the production room. Its shape was reminiscent of a ship’s keel.

In the end, the Shipbuilder’s Museum was a transformation of the Baltimore tradition of preserving modest structures with local lore as monuments (museums) celebrating its past. This design erected a tribute to Baltimore’s past on grounds where no modest structures survived.

Design Concept and Strategy

The Roebling Center, a place for working artists-in-residence, was conceived as a way to use the entire site of the former steel manufacturing plant in ways that,

• claimed its past vibrancy,
• reconnected it to surrounding communities and landscapes, and
• made its historical significance purposeful.

(The John A. Roebling and Sons Manufacturing Co. made steel cable for such notable American structures as the Brooklyn and Golden Gate Bridges.)

In order to harness this superfund site in 1999, pregnant with extraordinary inspiration, most notably skeletons of manufacturing buildings reigning as cathedrals, the design scrubbed and rebuilt them in its center. They were transformed into places for artists to live and work.

The design reclaimed the slag-strewn river's edge to allow artists and city residents to enjoy its preserved, inherent tranquility and to reconnect with one of the area's most formidable natural forces, the Delaware River.

Performance places were carved out of footprints of steel foundries far too decayed to be alive in any other way but by memory.

The forest which initially covered the whole property was replanted to form the gentle cupped hand of the north, holding and protecting the Center's regenerated and fragile epicenter.

The purpose of the Roebling Center was to consistently renew our spirits with works of art inspired by Roebling's significant past. The design embraced the belief that “our spirit is the ultimate expression of humanity itself and it is through exposure to artists' experience that our spirit is consistently reborn.” This belief also shaped another artists' center, Yadoo.

Finally, dramatic and easily accessible thresholds between the town of Roebling and the Center were provided to facilitate this exposure to the artists, their works and inspiration. In essence, these bridges and walkways formed paths of continuous inspiration and refreshment for our humanity.

Design Concept and Strategy

The Children’s Music Camp, a place for music students and teachers to reside, study and perform, was conceived as a way to use the site of a truck repair yard and abandoned residential property along a stream, in ways that:

• claimed its undulating topography,
• reconnected the combined properties with surrounding neighborhoods, and
• built a framework for a cultural dialogue with Charlottesville.

The site was embedded in one of Charlottesville’s oldest neighborhoods adjacent to vibrant, toney downtown. It bordered a strip of small commercial offices and work-yards to the north, was incised by railroad tracks, and was contiguous with the backyards and alleys of some of Charlottesville’s most distinctive working-class residences, remarkable for their simplicity, symmetry and covered front porches.

An outdoor performance theater topped the design site’s highest ground, on its north campus. Along a commercial thoroughfare, the grounds of this theater were accessible by walking paths that swept and ascended performance hill with drama, to punctuate the streetscape and announce the venue.

The main campus, south of the tracks, was woven at its edges to the fabric of the existing neighborhood. This blended porosity of the Camp created an openness to its neighbors as a step toward gaining their acceptance of a cultural center in their modest midst.

A transformation of the ubiquitous Belmont House was used as student dormatories, placed prominently in the heart of campus. These choices had two intentions: one, to signal to the surrounding community the acceptance and importance the Camp placed on belonging in Belmont; and two, to sway favor of acceptance by the locals in part through non-threatening familiarity.

The Camp’s paths of circulation joined functions and participants by alternately connecting and creating playful tension for residents and visitors alike. On performance days the students scurried across the tracks with instruments in hand, then climbed the stairs of the earthen cliff holding the outdoor theater so that they could be counted among symphony players.

Also, audience members from the neighborhood followed suit, lured by this new opportunity to hear student performances, in their backyard.

The purpose of the Children’s Music Camp was to bridge and integrate two seemingly different worlds, by injecting an approachable spirit of art and adventure into both Camp and neighborhood.

Design Concept and Strategy

This garden was created behind two trinities, historic Philadelphia townhouses built thirteen feet square and three stories high in the early 19th century. Located in Center City, this property spans the essence of early urban life and modern twenty-first century living. The houses have been modified some, though joined only through one narrow door on the first level. The gardens, however, were merged in the early 1980’s when the present owners combined the space and very pleasantly composed an oasis of sorts in the congestion of a compact city.

The occasion for this design was the death and partial extraction of a large Honey locust tree. Absent its shelter, the garden, suddenly bathed in sunlight, became overgrown and quickly lost its definition.

Selecting a Sweet bay magnolia as the garden’s primary plant, Mrs. Moore brought the visitor’s focus to the human level. Its multi-stem vertical form provided focus and filter simultaneously, leaving the space both whole and divided into two rooms. The reach of the magnolia’s limbs, accentuated by stretch of the ivy climbing on the neighbor’s wall, drew attention skyward, creating a tension-filled awareness between the calm of the inner-garden and the pastiche of the city’s roofs, windows and balconies. The patio’s brick edge was sequentially hidden, revealed and hidden again as a way of emphasizing the magnolia’s prominence, creating unity in the seating space and marking the garden’s entry.

Design Concept and Strategy

The Winston Salem School of Furniture Design assumed a simple form which afforded innovation of different orders. The design sought to:

• embolden students to be their most creative selves,
• stimulate students by settings organized for natural and spontaneous collaboration, and enhance the space organized for efficient functionality with evocative conditions for natural light and air circulation.

Expectations for the furniture design students were modeled after those at the Rhode Island School of Design and the Kincaid School. Their defining approaches entailed full exploration of design concepts through models that spanned welding to resin casting. Most all of the work was integrated with technology.

Space was organized to accomodate student development teams. This accommodation was achieved by stacking the floors of the new building parallel with the old, forming layers of combined space.

Each floor of these new-old layers separated space for hazardous experimentation needing specialized equipment and processes from the less noxious. This safety precaution gave the building it’s back brace, an open space on each floor across the side of the combined building farthest from the street.

Close proximity to the back brace and multi-functional space was deemed key for student creative spontaneity. Significant open space was placed around the team pods so that it could be easily used to the design process. The open floor and ceiling plans easily accommodated installation of multiple layers of technology. A library formed the building’s core between its old and new wings.

The quality of all air and light in the forward part of the new building was enhanced by the building’s exterior layers. Operating exterior windows and wooden slats functioning as louvers formed the skin of the building. This made its occupants’ light and air as pliable as the students’ imaginations in using the structure.

The new building’s construction of poured concrete columns and prefabricated slabs was cloaked in stacked columns required to support the movable sheaths of louvers.

One critic likened the building’s basic interior to that of a WPA school house, the form of which lasted for a century or more. The exterior, he mused, was better suited for those 21st century architects, who understood the value of natural elements to help balance man’s propensity for utility. In a sense, less was more here, and the building was really only the students’ easel.