the parsley.blog.landscape.life

at the southwest corner of Millennium Park sits the Crown Fountain, two 50 foot tall towers with video projections of the faces of Chicagoans, and water cascading down them.  the faces face each other, which is why the sides and back of each tower look a little nondescript from outside the park – some urban camouflage against the backdrop of skyscrapers.

the Crown Fountain, of course, is another photo magnet, and heavily represented on flickr.  what still pictures don’t convey is the slightly eerie quality of the faces (though it’s a friendly sort of eerieness); the video is slowed down and occasionally runs backward, and the giant faces don’t do anything more dramatic than look around a little, smile, and occasionally pucker up to spit water.  the giant faces move so subtly, and keep themselves so carefully in frame, that they seem trapped in the confines of their tower, as if they’re afraid to move too much and tip the thing over. but there is a kind of benevolence about them, as if they are keeping it low-key on purpose to avoid scaring anybody.

appropriate enough, since the mandatory to-do item here applies mostly to kids.  kids: play in the water.  adults: watch the kids.

I had the same thought I so often have at science museums and the like – why should kids have all the fun?  no, I didn’t wade, but with my feet in the shape they were in, it might not have been such a bad idea.

there were a few bad pixels in the towers, unfortunate, but probably inevitable.

it takes some patience to wait around for the “spitting” to happen, so most of my pictures don’t show it, because I was running around too fast.

now here’s a picture that’s way too boring for the photo sites.  this is the entrance to the Crown Fountain plaza from Michigan Avenue.  in the foreground is the sidewalk.  your entrance into this magical experience begins when you set foot on those fabulous concrete stairs.  what’s that little square thing?

well, there you have it.  the name of the artist and the date.

I didn’t find myself spending too much time at the Crown Fountain.  once you’ve seen a couple of the video faces and taken a couple of cute kid pictures, you’ve pretty much had the experience.  there would be nothing wrong with killing some time watching the action, but did I mention I was in a hurry?  I’m always in a hurry.  or at least I was.

next, here’s some Gehry, all the way from Los Angeles to you, Chicago.

the Gehry I know in person, of course, is the Disney Hall in downtown LA.  (I haven’t made any concerted effort to photograph it, but I have taken a few, because I couldn’t possibly not, there’s one in this post.) and I could pick some nits, but I’ve always liked the experience of it, and as crazy as the forms look from a distance, they are surprisingly friendly up close – you can get right up to the base of the building’s “skin” and climb around inside it and see how it’s put together.  it doesn’t just make for an amazing photo, it’s fun to be around.  it was fun watching them build it, too.

I wondered how the Pritzker Pavilion and the BP Bridge would feel, especially since the Pavilion is so clearly a bandshell, and those always look like sort of forlorn when there’s nothing going on.  like you’ve arrived at the wrong time.

those red seats certainly do look empty, but they make some nice lines to go with the swoops of the pavilion and the “trellis” over the space, with the fog sweeping in over the buildings. I’m sure a concert here is terrific, with a state-of-the-art sound system strung overhead on that curved grid.  but at the moment, with no concert going on, does it feel too much like it’s just waiting for something to happen?

maybe a little, if you focus on all that silent equipment.  but behind the chairs is a big lawn area, where you can have lawn seating during the performances.  the rest of the time…one does what one does on a big lawn.

one plays frisbee, or just sits around.  this was about the only place in the park I felt like I could just flop down, and I did.  there is still nothing that beats a big chunk of good turf for flopping on; and the “trellis” overhead, which brings the sound all the way back when there’s a concert, has an amazing effect when it’s just silent over the grass.  it feels like a roof, but an expansive, soaring, open roof.  under it, you feel somehow protected, but also in a mood to scan the skyline and watch the clouds go by.  you’re enclosed but you can look out; nothing’s better than that.

oh look, an axis!  there are so many places throughout Millennium Park where it feels like there ought to be an exciting line of sight, and there isn’t, but here’s one to love.  it almost doesn’t look like it was done on purpose: the Bean is hiding a little between those trees, kind of mischievous-looking.  I wish there was a way to walk straight out from this grassy field, under the bean, and right out onto Michigan Avenue and into the heart of the Loop: but there isn’t.  you have to go down and around.  but what a processional arch that Bean would make.

even the transition between the fixed seating and the lawn area makes for a nice hangout spot:

darn it, one of the best pieces of landscape in the park, welcoming and civil, and it’s in the architecture. score one for the architects, curse them.

there was after all one Pavilion moment when I felt like I was, in fact, there at the wrong time:

don’t get me wrong.  I have been to a lot of public parks and it would take a LOT for a park bathroom to really scare me.  but this still looks a little ominous.  I’m sure it handles concert crowds brilliantly: down there is a giant hallway, and HUGE capacious bathrooms; clean, utilitarian, well-maintained.  four stars for function.  but heading down this stair on an ordinary day with no concert crowd – well, I didn’t feel scared so much as outscaled.  you could have driven a truck down that hallway.

the bridge sneaks up on you a little, it feels very much behind the Pavilion, but it lets you know right away there’s something going on. somebody’s been practicing architecture.

nice materials, well-constructed, forms that have the courage of their convictions…and I’m going to find something a little lacking in the setting.  do you sense a theme here?

I could live without those safety bollards, but that’s a minor nitpick.

hmm, those barriers around the water fountains don’t look like part of the original design.  I think some concert goers must have been intruding where they weren’t wanted.  but in fact I’m not really convinced by that fence, either – it’s nicer than your usual temporary barricade but it still feels tacked on.

cleverly enough, the bridge, by running parallel to the busy street below, serves as an acoustical barrier for the amphitheatre.  I can’t help but think that adds to its elegance.

more soon…

so, what is Millennium Park, really?   I was confused every time I went through it. even all these months later, I’m still confused.

even looking right smack into it from the highest vantage point available, I still don’t get it.

would a map help?

the park is a stupendous technical achievement, 24.5 acres constructed at great expense over structures – commuter rail lines, and parking garages.

it’s a huge civic showpiece.  everyone is very proud and happy about it.  people flock to it.  tons of tourists swarm all over it – even in September when schools are back in session – and big crowds gather there for big events and performances. it has a couple of superstar pieces of large-scale public art, a megastar turn of architecture, and a really lovely, densely textured, almost otherworldly (or perhaps I should say hyperworldly) garden.

but the whole thing, as a place to be experienced, doesn’t really have much to say for itself.

it’s organized on a grid.  the space has been carved up into pieces in a workmanlike fashion to serve its various functions, and there are paths and trees separating the pieces, and there are benches and lights and stuff, and lemonade stands, and various lesser buildings, and a lot of infrastructure.

but to my eyes, nothing about the landscape overall says, here is a place to get excited about.  now, you are in this place, and no other.

the big showpieces are truly dazzling.  you’ve seen a million pictures of them for very good reason.  they’ll knock your eyes out when seen in person.  I’ll give you the highlights: “Cloud Gate,” the Crown Fountain, the Pritzker Pavilion, the BP Bridge.  these are on the mandatory to-do list.

except… there is a slight sense of disappointment at how single-purpose each of the showpieces tends to be.  there is not a lot of room for an unplanned experience.  you have a pretty clear task set out for you at each of the big knick-knacks.

your first task:

have you found your way to the Bean?   take a picture.

pose for a picture. take pictures of yourself. take pictures of each other. take pictures of the people taking pictures.

(if you are an infant, you are exempted from the rule that you must take a picture upon approaching the Bean.   don’t worry, Dad’s got you covered .)

got a wedding party? you know what to do.

“Cloud Gate” is possibly one of the greatest camera magnets of our times, just in time for the golden age of everyone’s-got-a-damn-camera.  it’s really tremendous fun.  it’s a very social experience.  nobody is embarrassed to strike all kinds of silly poses.  I saw these folks, and did the same, even though I was by myself.

on the other hand, when I tried to pull out a sketchbook, I got some funny looks.  it did make me self-conscious enough not to try sketching for long.  maybe if I’d brought a posse…

how often they polish this thing, I don’t know, but they must have to.  it is seriously smudgy when you look at it up close.  not to mention the seagulls hanging out on top.  I suppose some bird spikes wouldn’t look quite right up there.

I hope that art classes come here to draw.  photography classes, for sure.  I hope science classes come here for lessons on optics.  they must.

where am I in this picture?  aaaaaaaaaah!  I’m invisible!

no, I am actually in that picture.  about three pixels of me, camouflaged against the greenery.  in all the others, I’m just lost in the crowd.

.

I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about “Cloud Gate” being so completely a photo opportunity.  it might be nice to just look.

more soon…

the one thing I knew for sure I wanted to see in Chicago, in the little bit of time I would be able to sneak off from the conference, was Millennium Park.

Millennium Park, Chicago, Sept. 2009

wherever landscape architects and urban designers and others concerned with parks and the public realm gather, Millennium Park has become a touchstone for all the things we wish we could do in our own cities with our own projects. the civic pride! the ambitious public art and architecture!  the GEHRY, including the only gehry-designed bridge anywhere!  the award-winning garden!  the massive budget!  the international renown! the photo ops, oh, the photo ops!

Crown Fountain, Millennium Park, September 2009

I don’t quite know where that particular buzzphrase “a world-class park” got started, but surely this is the original recipe, the standard by which all others are measured.  countless images are being downloaded even as we speak, to be included in countless powerpoints. I too had used it as precedent and example.  but I had never seen it.

"The Bean," really called "Cloud Gate," Millennium Park, Chicago

as it happened, I didn’t really do too much homework on Millennium Park before I got there.  I didn’t read up on the architecture and art, beyond knowing that the real name of “The Bean” is “Cloud Gate” and it is by Anish Kapoor, who does other polished things that I had seen in museums; that the big fountain with the video walls is the Crown Fountain; that the Lurie Garden was designed by a team led by Kathryn Gustafson and Piet Oudolf; that the park as a whole was known for its truly world-class budget, said to total nearly half a billion dollars when all was said and done.  yes, there were cost overruns and delays, at which nobody ought to be surprised.

without knowing too much of the backstory, though, I just wanted to go and have an experience of the park.  I only got a quick glimpse of it at night, through the trees, while trundling through the Loop on the airport shuttle.  over the long weekend of the conference, I was able to go back to Millennium Park two different times; didn’t take any official tours, though I saw swarms of landscape architects all over the place when I was there.  this swarming behavior in iconic public spaces is characteristic of the species, especially during the ASLA conference.

Swarm of landscape architects in the Lurie Garden, Millennium Park

(that’s the Art Institute in the background, see the previous post for the view from inside it.)

this word “iconic” gets tossed around a lot in architectural and landscape architectural discussions.  it’s a little bit problematic, the way we use it.  especially for landscape architects, because landscape is so rarely seen as iconic, the way a famous building or landmark or work of art might be seen.  if you really dig right down to the root of the word, after all, an icon is a thing designed to be worshipped. brrrr, landscape architects usually aren’t too comfortable with that idea.  we want to create spaces for people!  welcoming spaces!  successful spaces!  spaces that work!

and we get kicked around way too much to think of what we do as iconic! usually.

photography creates its own bias here.   don’t get me wrong, I’m nuts for taking photos myself.  and though I’m a rank amateur at it, I love a good architectural photo as much as the next “Architectural Record” subscriber.  but it’s hard to capture the experience of being in a place in a photo, still less when you’re talking landscape.  building exteriors and sculptures lend themselves rather well to the photo ops; it’s a much harder and subtler task to capture the experience of being in a designed space.  it does not lend itself to that exquisite tripod shot that we marketing people love to have on our hard drives.  it’s prone to visual confusion.

Lurie Garden in foreground, Chicago skyline in background, Millennium Park

around the conference, I ran into people, the way you do, and usually Millennium Park would come up.  have you seen it yet? have you taken any tours?  did you hear about the sunrise tour?  (I did *not* make it to the sunrise tour.)  and because I am me, I would always ask, What did you think?

people were actually a little hesitant.  they were impressed, but… well, they liked it, but…  I’d press them: did you see this and that?  did you see the bridge?  did you see the benches in the Lurie Garden?  did you see the bicycle rental place?  and usually, people were confused.  they spent a lot of time in the park but they missed things.  they got turned around and lost. I myself went in and out of the park several times before I actually figured out where the Crown Fountain was.  you’d think it would be hard to miss.

Millennium Park, from the Michigan Avenue sidewalk

but depending on where you’re coming from, it’s actually a little hard to see.

all through the park, there is something distinctly funky with the sight lines, the wayfinding, the edge conditions; to be really unembarassedly jargony, the sense of arrival. I kept thinking about all those catchphrases I was taught and looking for them.

by the end of the conference, I was pontificating about it when I met people on the trade show floor:  ”It doesn’t feel,” I would declare in my best armchair critic manner, “like a landscape-driven project.”

and in fact, it doesn’t.  it’s obviously a rip-roaring success, crammed with people having fun and snapping photos; but the experience of moving into and through it is disjointed, disorienting. you feel a bit lost, and then you come across the iconic sights, and all is seemingly forgiven: you grab your camera and run up for your photo ops.  I sure did.  there will be lots more Cloud Gate and Crown Fountain in the next posts.  but also: hinky grade changes, lack of landscape identity, maintenance oopsies, and scary scary bathrooms.

Lurie Garden, Millennium Park

not to spoil the punchline or anything, but I really did like the Lurie Garden best.  more soon…

8/29/09 – Saturday.

I can tell when the latest round of wildfires has made the national news because I start getting the “are you OK??” messages from certain family members.  never mind that I live, and have always lived in all my years in California, nowhere near a wildland that might burn.  when you see wildland fires on the national news they always look pretty comprehensively destructive.  burn, hollywood, burn.

and in fact this particular fire, the Station fire, is scary enough.  it’s been hot and dry and dusty and very still, so that the giant plume of smoke is mostly hanging in the air, only drifting seaward very slowly.  this is the view from the north 405 this afternoon.  windshield photos are always pretty dicey but this might at least give a sense of the massive scale of the smoke plume.  I see by the LA Times web site that officials would very much like it if people stopped calling 911 to report the smoke.  they are, in fact, aware of the  gigantic fire.

though musing on the metaphorical value of these fires is always interesting, there is more possibility of detachment when you have nothing personally at stake.  not menacing me or my home, check.  not menacing any family or close friends, hmm, it is menacing at least one online acquaintance that I know of, possibly others, so that’s slightly more personal.   not threatening any of our projects, check.  oh, that last one seemed cold-blooded, didn’t it?

but you know as designers we still talk about “our” projects even when they’re built and completely out of our hands.  we utterly fail at detachment.  when they look good,  when people are enjoying them, we beam with pride.  when they’re neglected or underused or being systematically killed by bad maintenance, it hurts.  just today I was lamenting with some colleagues about how hard it is to get the best possible pictures of a landscape project; we hire good photographers and try to run around and get things cleaned up,  but finding that magic moment, as the boss calls it, “after it’s grown in and before they kill it,” sometimes proves almost impossible.  it might have been five minutes, one April.  if you miss it, too bad.  there’s only so much you can do with photoshop.

8/30/09 – Sunday.

I went driving around to look for another photo opportunity.  wrong time of day, blazing noon, and so hazy you can’t entirely tell what you’re looking at.  nevertheless:

the internet is filling up fast with better photos and videos of the Station fire; it’s dramatically visible from all around the basin.  nevertheless, this is my view of it today, with the channelized Ballona creek in the foreground, taken from the Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook.

there, interpretive materials in the visitor center explain many things about our local ecology, including what the levels of air quality alert mean.  this is where we’re at today, which means it’s an exceptionally poor day to be climbing three hundred feet on a dusty, blazing hillside at noon.  but then, when was I ever known for good sense.

I still haven’t made a proper visit to the Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook and taken the pictures I need to take, but I’ve now been up there briefly twice. and remarked to the friend I was with, the first time, that seeing the California State Parks logo, these days,  fills me with nothing but sorrow.  we got busted, that time,  for not paying our parking, and I hastily stuffed my money in the box, fighting the impulse to follow it with all the money in my wallet.  as if that would do much good.

we’re being gutted!  thanks for understanding!  enjoy your new State Park!

he that hath wife and children, wrote Francis Bacon, hath given hostages to fortune.

to love anything is to become vulnerable, to instantly fail the detachment test.  cities and parks and landscapes, as well as people.

when these grand pyrocumulus clouds appear on the horizon and the light turns those interesting colors, I heartlessly look for my camera, and heedlessly climb up hills.  it’s like a gigantic movie screen, and wouldn’t seem all that real, except you can smell it and taste it and it gives you headaches, even at this fairly considerable distance.    I try to explain to my family that los angeles is seventy-two suburbs in search of a city (or 88, or a hundred, depending on who you ask) and there is really no immediacy for me in the fate of glendora or la canada flintridge, as sad and upsetting as it is to hear about all this destruction.  who is it that I’m really trying to convince?

as a single, childless person who owns very little and lives in the midst of the concrete, you’d think I have no hostages to fortune.  guess again.