The sound of rain on pavement, breeze lifting muslin drapes and disarranging curls of hair, birds calling in the morning sun, cicadas en masse in the heat of the day, avenues of European trees, mirages in the desert; all evocative in landscape and cinema. 20th C film director, Andrey Tarkovsky, called film a “mosaic of time”, revealing the deep connection between landscape, or in my case gardens, and film. He calls rhythm the formative element in cinema¹, the rhythm of seasons, breathing, wildlife cycles, coming and going, creating and destroying, night and day, psychological variations, learning and forgetting, living and dying; rhythm is the formative element in life.
Gardens are well placed to reveal the language of rhythm. The stories which become possible via the client’s brief through design, metaphor, imagination, and the application of art in thought may fall together to illuminate more (or perhaps less depending on its success) than was intended. Luis Bunuel understood filmmaking as a process of discovery, of revelation, it is not always as one intends²; “The story you tell isn’t the same as the story you hear.” In the development of a new language for gardens one can disengage from what has been done, and reimagine elemental threads which include psychology, fiction, metaphor, story, touch, arcadia and the wild as ennobling gifts to the user. Plants become servants of ideas creating unintentional perspectives as time folds them into the fabric of the story.
Of course the early experiences of such a garden may elicit vertigo, obfuscation or irritability. This could be a marker to its success – we love our comfort zones, and gardens have traditionally been places of comfort and rest – but as life experience tells us, the best outcomes very often take the most effort. These are gardens for explorers, thinkers, ‘wild’ people, those who don’t expect things to be “handed to them on a platter”, they require interpretation and understanding with the passage of time.
This is not about an arbitrary process or determinism. The process is best suited to, as Ingmar Bergman says, “accepting something ill-defined and leading it toward definition, preserving along the way the equivocal moments, the secret passages: for if given free reign, the distinct often tends to become too clear cut, too dry and cold and uncompromising.” Cinematographer, Chris Doyle, concurs, “finding the film rather than creating it.” We owe it to ourselves and those we serve and care about to think. Film can be toxic for sure but also it very often serves to ennoble us and nudge us in the direction our hearts are heading. Secret passages and cerebral intoxication may well be waiting for us if we give gardens more latitude for the cinematic!
As a young man I walked out of ‘Fitzcaraldo’ into a world different to the one from which I entered. It was briefly surreal. Werner Herzog had a way of turning reality into fiction and fiction into documentaries. “There are deeper strata of truth in cinema, and there is such a thing as poetic, ecstatic truth. It is mysterious and elusive, and can be reached only through fabrication, and imagination and stylization.” He found a way to tell stories “not about the real world but the world as we dream it.”³ So again, Garden Studio are in many ways attempting this, to find this world we live in as our clients might dream it!
¹Ed. Salim Kemel & Ivan Gaskell, ‘Landscape, Natural Beauty and the Arts’, CUP ²Jean-Claude Carriere, ‘The Secret Language of Film’, Pantheon Books ³mubi.com/likestoriesofold