Seeing the invisible landscape: A natural sculpture garden at the Pretoria art museum

Abstract

“We train cultivating a will for awareness…… but almost everyone has a sensitive bullshit meter…we’ll notice how we tend to label what we see and then fail to see the thing in itself at all” (Mosko, Noden 2018:70-79) I find myself constantly overwhelmed by the overabundance of images. My attention diverts from one digital device to the other: upon awakening in the morning, I first grab for my phone to flick through the latest Instagram posts; Netflix for breakfast. As I drive to University, it’s billboard after billboard using evocative graphics to sell newly released products that I don’t need – buy me if you’re smart. During all of this my ringtone keeps beeping for attention. I suspect many others are exhausted by the constant inundation of sensory clutter. As a student of landscape architecture, I have felt this hyperactive world spill over onto the drawing board. It feels as if there is an ever-present pressure to add complexity to projects: hyper-functional systems, mega-diversity of plants, intricate forms, multi-purpose programmes, innovative materials stacked one upon the other…more is always better. I position this dissertation as a reaction against design complexity – a search for simplicity in spatial experiences, freed from visual clutter. This brought me to the tradition of the Japanese Zen garden. It is a way of place-making that has always intrigued me, but not one I knew much about. I was rather insecure about studying an exotic tradition to apply within an African context, not to mention the obvious pitfall of designing a clichéd, spa-like version of a Zen garden: stepping stones and raked gravel circles in Gauteng? Thus, I proceeded to study the principles of this rich tradition to apply truthfully, hoping the end design would embody the Zen qualities of tranquillity and mindfulness whilst being ‘at home’ in its context. Beyond this personal motivation, there is another reason to find silence in the landscape: public open spaces that are hives of activity and filled to the brim with arresting forms, textures and colours, marginalise those people in our cities that feel ill at ease when confronted with chaos. People with neurological disorders like autism and introverted personality types, not to mention the elderly, feel alienated from the urban spaces landscape architects help to create (Robertson 2018). Although this dissertation does not focus on investigating landscape architecture for such cognitive conditions, it does aim to propose a place in the city where these neglected user-groups can find peace and serenity., I derived a set of criteria (see Table 1) to keep in mind throughout the design process. 10 The site of the Pretoria Art Museum was chosen for the investigation, as the landscape outside an art gallery is naturally suited to a more contemplative programme – a breathing space from the sensory madness of the city. Furthermore, it soon became clear that the modernist language of the building itself is inherently suited for a garden based on the principles of Zen: the fathers of the Modern Movement drew deeply from ancient Japan. Thus, the Zen tradition is infused in the very architectural language of the site, and not as ‘exotic’ as one may think at face value. This dissertation is a collection of my attempts to grapple with the translation of an ancient tradition in a contemporary context – both in the mind and with the maker’s hand.