Born into the  Haute Bourgeois, Berthe and her sister Edmé were given art lessons as a natural course of instruction for certain young women of the day. What set them apart was the dedication to their art beyond conventions; a determination beyond all odds to utilize it in art,  taste and new ways of expression. In 1858 Madame Morisot inspired her daughters to paint. She desired that the girls take art lessons so that they could present a birthday gift to their father. She sent them first to the academic painter Geoffrey Alphonse Chocarne who focused his teachings on drawing, and soon afterward to Joseph Benoît Guichard, a former student of both Ingres and Delacroix. Edmé and Berthe enthusiastically applied themselves to his instruction. Under Guichard’s tutelage, the Morisot sisters began to journey to the Louvre in order to study the old masters first hand.

After three years of studio work under the supervision of Guichard, Berthe decided that she wished to study the plein air motif under master landscapist Corot. Edmé joined her sister with these weekly lessons. As part of Corot’s instruction, the family embarked on summer-long painting trips to picturesque locales. In 1862, they rode mules through the Pyrenees. In order to accommodate these expeditions, the Morisot family organized their holidays around Berthe and Edme’s art work for there was no question that the two would have set off on such an experience unchaperoned.

In this painting, we can infer much: the desire to reach out to the outside world, even though it is the cloistered terrace of the home. The subject’s ribbons are like a yoke, the fetters now broken and free and in the same value as the bars to the right of the composition. The cumbersome dress is held up in a natural way, a subtle protest towards the lack of freedom of movement in dress. In this painting, what at first seems a charming scene, is in fact a manifesto for the emancipation of women.

In a personal breakthrough of subject and style, Morisot defines the Impressionistic method with this revolutionary painting, executed in triumphant plein air. All is conditioned by light and natural effects. The viewer is no longer dispassionate, but one with the atmosphere. There is no horizon line, no mythological “other” to inform the scene but what it is: a modern wet nurse and a child. The honesty of this composition and painterly approach cannot be underestimated.  

Morisot produced many paintings of varied scenes. I have selected a few of those which relate to the garden. In her mature work there is a dynamic painterly approach which adresses Morisot’s concern with capturing the ephemeral.

In this remarkable pastel on paper, Morisot treats her subject, pears on pendulous, leafy branches, by dispensing with the subjective; these pears are not a literal representation, nor, indeed an Impressionist reflection. Here, Morisot takes the great conceptual leap of the artist in depicting the idea of pears. In this composition of color and line, Morisot has prefigured the 20th century concern for abstraction in art, and in doing so takes her place in the canon of not only Impressionistic art, but in the revolutionary approaches in thought and the depiction of modern art to follow.

In one of my favorite works by Morisot, the artist is personally direct in this self portrait with her daughter with an economy of line and shade on unprimed canvas. A tour de force of meaning and truth, Morisot deconstructs the process of painting to its most elemental.

The gardens depicted in the paintings by Berthe Morisot always include the family: mothers and children, at times fathers and friends. The immediacy and experience of the natural world is what is celebrated here; the comfort and delight that a garden setting affords to families, and a platform for the artist is what had meaning for Morisot. The ideas found in Berthe Morisot’s paintings are eternal and relevant, and can yet inform us today.

Le harem dans le Kiosque  Jean-Léon Gérôme, 1870
In the vast estates and gardens of the European nobility, “follies” of Turkish tents and pavilions studded the landscape. Bal masques and tableaux vivants with Europeans in “Tatar” costume were among the lavish garden entertainments. Academic painters of the 19th century found a fascinated public who reveled in scenes of the seraglio, the exotic genre scene, the Odalisque.

Today such attitudes may seem incomprehensible.  Terrorism and jihad, the conflict between Sunni and Shia, the Iraq war and our own uncertain place in these events is deeply troubling. Compounded with this is an evolution in our own psychology that the “Orientalists” are guilty of the worst kind of colonialism and are in fact quite distasteful.

I would suggest that in examining the past in art and garden design we need to adjust our perspective from our own present view, and attempt to ”place ourselves in the shoes” of the artists and great thinkers of the time at question. What I have found is that the proponents of the “Orientalist” movement of the 18th-19th century were in fact attempting to expand the arts and knowledge of their time. It was an artistic movement of visual delight and indeed, respect for the culture of the Near East.

The defeat of the Ottoman empire in the battle of Vienna in 1683 presaged European primacy in the Balkans and the rise of the Hapsburg empire. The spoils of war, tents, textiles, musical instruments and especially, coffee, created a sensation among the Europeans eager for new products. In 1704 Antoine Galland published the first french translation of The Arabian, or “One Thousand and One Nights ”Les Mille et Une Nuits, contes arabes traduits en français and the passion for the Turquerie in art and fashion began. The piquancy of the style soon found a venue in European gardens.

In the Mysterious and almost surreal garden of Desert de Retz, a Turkish tent resides on “The Island of Happiness” amidst rampant verdure. Located west of Paris, the garden was designed between 1774 and 1789 by Francois Racine de Monville. A garden in the English manner, the property once had nearly twenty follies  such as pyramid, a temple to Pan, and a column house.

Designed in 1971 as guest quarters by the French design firm, Jansen, for the Shah of Iran, luxurious tents were placed near the ruins of Persepolis. Ostensibly to celebrate the the 2,500th anniversary of the founding of Persia, the whole affair populated by world leaders and the super rich was so over the top in extravagance that it is considered the precipitating incident which eventually led to the overthrow of the Shah and a causa belli for the Islamic revolution.

Turquerie and all its forms may seem out of date today, yet it is worthwhile considering examples from the past not only for their aesthetic appeal, but for understanding how social conditions, commerce and events shape the arts, and indeed our own gardens today.

I would love to share one of my favorite neighborhood walks.  My family has a house on Depot Hill, above the village of Capitola. This neighborhood of cottages, some from the 19th century, is perched above the Monterey Bay. Surfers lay on their boards and sea kelp drifts in the calm water below the cliffs. The bay extends in a great arc southwards to the Monterey peninsula. The Monterey mountains are a purple silhouette against the sky and at night the bay is ringed by glittering lights.

After lunch in the garden we always take a walk, first to the cliffs. There is almost no automobile traffic as there are just a few dead end roads on the hill. Perfect for strolling in the middle of the street.

Grand Avenue which runs along the cliffs has no traffic at all as parts of it have tumbled into the bay below! The cliffs are are always eroding, but for now Grand Avenue is a pedestrian walkway, with benches placed along the few blocks to enjoy the view.

This border is graced by sculptures fashioned from driftwood dragged up the cliffs from the rocky shore below.

Turning left we come across this colorful garden.

This cottage was once the minister’s house for the church next door.

        On Cliff Avenue, a trumpet vine (Campsis radicans)  creates a spectaular display.

One of my favorite houses, I have always appreciated its tidy and old-fashioned quality.

The village seen here from Cliff Avenue was a great place to watch fireworks being set off from the pier.  Depot Hill with its quiet streets, cottages with front porches, and flowering gardens with picket fences has such a nostalgic air; a kind of perpetual summerland, where every day is the Fourth of July.

Thank you for taking this stroll with me.

Happy Fourth of July! 

The garden retreat prior to the 19th century had been for the most part the province of the priviledged nobility. Solitary intellectual pursuits were not excluded, but the forms were generally of convivial pleasure.

The industrial revolution of the 19th century led not only to an evolution of the social order, but coincided with the Arcadian ideal; the appreciation of the natural world, for rusticity, and for the cult of the individual.  For writers of the period, especially of the late 19th and early 20th century, these forces came together in “the writer’s hut”.  A new kind of hermitage, the writer ’s hut ,was by definition a small structure, perhaps big enough only for one person, where the writer could work undisturbed surrounded by nature.

 So much has been written over the years about Virginia Woolf and her milieu, that I shall not attempt that here.  Instead, when looking at the interior of her room, I imagine Virginia sitting at the desk, taking off her eyeglasses.  Does she gaze through the doorway to the garden beyond? Tucked in the corner, a folding garden chair with its striped canvas speaks of summers past.  It was here that Virginia wrote her last note to Leonard, at once a poignant plea for help and a testament to love.

Dickens had a tunnel constucted beneath the road which separated the estate from his chalet. The cool mossy tunnel became an atmospheric and psychological transition between his troubled household and private retreat.  Charles Dickens died on a summer’s day in 1870 whilst at his desk in the chalet writing his unfinished novel, The Mystery of Edwin Drood.
 
Dylan Thomas wrote of his writing hut in Laugharne, Wales “My study, atelier, or bard’s bothy, roasts on a cliff-top.”  The hut or “Boathouse” commanded views of the tidal flats and surrounding estuaries.

The interior of the boathouse was decorated with an assemblage of magazine cuttings and paintings by artists such as William Blake and Modigliani.  Lists of word alliterations, beer bottles, dictionaries and numerous drafts littered the space in a creative ferment.

By peering into the private garden sanctuaries of these authors, I feel I have come to know them in a way that they never completely shared with the public. Like his charming children’s stories, Roald Dahl looks as “snug as a bug in a rug” in his private sanctuary. Dylan Thomas’ boathouse says to me that living life itself can be messy, and yet in the process, inspiring. I cannot help but think of Dickens in a kind of child’s playhouse, enjoying what must have been lost in his own childhood. Shaw’s hut shows me that he, although brilliant, treasured simplicity. And Virginia Woolf… I thought her hut was quite direct and contemporary. I keep thinking of that garden chair in the corner. It seems to me a talisman of hope.

It is the respective author’s true qualities of character and private nature which are revealed in the writer’s hut:  in a room of their own.
 

When we hear the word “casino” today, we naturally think of gambling. The weird cacophony of slot machines comes to mind, as does the marketing phrase ” What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”. In 16th century Rome, however, the casino had a different meaning entirely.

The restoration of the papacy to Rome in the 15th century saw the return of the leading noble familes to the beleaguered city. Much like the counterparts on the continent, the “Princes of Rome”, the cardinals, sought to consolidate their wealth and political influence. Vast estates were carved from the ancient ruins and vigne, small market gardens of the Medieval period. The fortified estate gave way to the expansive villa, combining the economics of farming with pleasure grounds in imitation of their classic predecessors. Rome was once again the center of power, but it was to its environs that the wealthy and powerful  retreated to escape the heat and miasma of the city.

Begun in 1566 in Bagnaia, the Villa Lante is attributed to one of the great Mannerist architects of the period, Giacomo Barozzi da Vignola.  The exaggerated, self conscious theatricality which so characterized the Mannerist style is supreme at Villa Lante. On the lower level, paired casini or small villas rest above a parterre of clipped box. Elaborate water courses, pools and basins which grace the property are a triumph of hydraulic engineering. The higher levels of the garden are forested and planted with flowering shubs concealing mossy grottos with the sound of dripping water. It was here in the upper reaches of the complex that Vignola built a casino (from casina, or little house) to enjoy the summer breezes and shady prospect. Much imitated in the following centuries, Vignola’s casino at Villa Lante is considered a model of classical perfection.

In the Vatican Gardens in Rome, a contemporary of Vignola, Pirro Ligorio, built a Casino for the pope known as casino Pia Vi or Villa Pia. Ligorio had worked with Vignola at the Villa Lante and was a passionate authority on Roman antiquities. Executed in high Mannerist style, the casino is a tour de force of spatial arrangement, classical orders and adorment.

The Casinos of 16th century Rome were not only sybaritic pleasure pavilions, but an expression of power and erudition. Infused by the philosophy of Humanism which embraced the learning of the ancient Romans and Greeks, the architects and their clients sought to recreate the classical ideal. Today in examining the period, one is tempted to “place oneself in their shoes” to gain a better understanding and perpective. How they must have marveled at the splendid ruins and wondered how all of that could have been lost?

Located in the temperate vale of Kashmir outside Srinagar on the Dal Lake, the region was a summer retreat from the heat of the plains. It was here in 1616 that Jahangir, Persian meaning “Conqueror of the World,”  created a pleasure garden for his beloved wife, Nur Jahan. By all accounts possessing remarkable beauty, intelligence and will, Nur Jahan “light of the world.” wielded vast imperial power in her own right.  A brilliant court was established and it was during their reign that the artistic achievements of the Mughal empire came into full flower. The gardens of the Shalimar Bagh was the setting for courtly entertainments, lavish with wine favored by Jahangir, and poetry contests instituted by Nur Jahan, herself an accomplished poet. Accounts tell of moonlit soirees,  accompanied by the sound of fountains and the heady fragrance of perfume made by Nur jahan from her own formula.

The Mughal gardens were enclosed spaces much like the European Medieval counterpoint, the hortus conclusus. The Persian word paridaida meant to enclose or an enclosed garden, and the word was translated eventually into English as “paradise”. This concept was utilized in the Shalimar Bagh along with another Persian form, the chahar bagh. In this garden arrangement, a walled garden was divided into four equal parts, with the central feature being a fountain or pool. Here at Shalimar, this approach is relaxed, with elements such as pools tranformed into wide watercourses with cascades, flanked by tall chenna trees and expansive lawns with flowering plantings.

The overall plan of the Shalimar Bagh echoed palace architecture with a hierarchal division from the public sphere (the lowest part of the garden) to the middle section for the Emperor and his friends. The highest part of the garden was reserved for the Empress and ladies of the court. It was here that the Black Pavillion, crowned by its tripartite roof ,was surrounded by basins issuing numerous fountains. Lamps in niches illuminating the scene at night created a scintillating atmosphere.  The Shalimar bagh was renown for its flowers, and Jahangir’s court painter  Nadri al Asi painted exquisite depictions of kashmiri flowers such as the rose, jamine and champa.

After the collapse of the Mughal dynasty, the allure and romance of the Shalimar Bagh held the British Raj in it’s thrall. Glimpsed from houseboats on lake dal, the gardens were once again celebrated in verse:

Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar,

Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell?

Whom do you lead on Rapture’s roadway, far,

Before you agonise them in farewell?

Oh, pale dispensers of my Joys and Pains,

Holding the doors of Heaven and of Hell,

How the hot blood rushed wildly through the veins

Beneath your touch, until you waved farewell.

Pale hands, pink tipped, like Lotus buds that float

On those cool waters where we used to dwell,

I would have rather felt you round my throat,

Crushing out life, than waving me farewell!

Amy Woodforde-Finden, 1901

Providing shelter from the elements, the garden retreat yet also welcomes the natural air and breezes.  To observe a rainstorm whilst in the retreat is one of life’s great pleasures. It is this ability to be in the garden and yet away from distractions and the eyes of others which allows the mind to wander, to meditate and to refresh one’s spirit that is at the key of the garden retreat.

The Mughal pavilion, the Japanese teahouse, The Italian Renaissance casino, the summerhouse  and my own retreat may be separated by culture, geography and time, yet all are expressions  of the same impulse, and the enjoyment found therin is shared by all.

Forty-five minutes by boat from Puerto Vallarta, and seemingly outside time and space, is the place called Yelapa.
Isolated by the mountain ranges of the Mexican Southern escarpment, Yelapa can only be reached by boat. There are no roads leading into Yelapa. A rugged track can be traverssed by mule or on foot, except during the rainy season when the track is impassible. It should be noted that the rainy season lasts half the year.

Casas de Isabel on “the point” is a botanic garden of rare tropical plants from around the world.  Isabel invited us to witness the opening of a flowering tree’s blossoms which only bloomed at midnight. Located in a stunning seaside canyon setting with two waterfalls, Casas de Isabel is a sanctuary for the sacred art of the Huichol where you can see their collection on display .  The Women’s Sacred Circle retreats are held from March 24th, to April 2nd.  From the Casas Isabel website:  “Compassionate listening is almost a lost art among many, including most of our world leaders, but not here!”

The slopes of the village are covered in flowering hibiscus. Dried hibiscus is considered an edible delicacy and children string hibiscus necklaces.

The paths of the village are lined in fruiting shrubs such as kumquat, mango and clusters of potted plants. Here, without any running water, the love of growing plants and beauty is triumphant.

Pigmented walls contrast with handmade moulded clay garden steps.

The region of Yelapa is considered one of the world’s great natural ecosystems for biodiversity, second only to the Amazon. Many important food crops genetically originated here such as maize, cotton, peppers and squash.

The Garden of La Foce located in the Val d’Orcia region of Southern Tuscany is considered one of the great gardens of the 20th century. The garden is indeed beautiful, in an incomparable setting; it is the story behind the creation of the garden and the events which took place there during World War II, however, which makes this garden so compelling. The story of La foce is of the restoration of a land and the spirit of its people, and of human decency and personal heroism  in a wretched time of war.

Newlyweds Iris and Antonio Origo seached for a place where they could make a difference, when in in 1923 with the impetuosity of youth the couple purchased La Foce. Located in the wilds of the Crete Senesi, La Foce was far removed from the Tuscan countryside of ordered gardens and tidy vines of Iris’ childhood. The Villa Medici where Iris had grown up was a remarkable Renaissance villa overlooking Florence; art, beauty and the aroma of luxury pervaded. In contrast, La Foce had few roads other than a rutted cart track. There was no electricity, no telephone and most importantly very little water. The soil had seriously eroded over centuries, and the forests decimated. The farms on the estate were all in great disrepair. The people had little access to health care and education; the land was a desert, its people wary.

Working together, Antonio and the people of the estate addressed erosion and added arable land, dug wells, ditches, added livestock and improved farms with electricity and lavatories. Roads were built to connect the isolated farms with the result that children could attend the school Iris set up (in a region with 80% illiteracy) and people could visit the dispensory (ambulatario) in times of sickness.

All energies and capital had gone into improving the farms, but the gift of a water pipe to a spring six miles away by Iris’ American grandmother meant that the house had an abundant water supply for the first time. Iris called upon her friend, the architect and noted landscape designer Cecil Pinsent to create the garden plan. Iris first met Cecil when he restored the grounds of her mother’s estate in Fiesole, and Pinsent employed a similar approach at la Foce. The first garden to be created was just off the Villa. Terraces were shaded by a wisteria clad pergola, and clipped box centered a fountain with dolphin supports resting in a cartouche shaped pool.

A few years later a larger terrace was linked to the house by geometic clipped box headed by twin pillars of travertine surmounted by urns. Pinsent’s use of strong form gave the garden structure, and evoked qualities found in Tuscan Renaissance gardens.

While Pinsent gave the garden bones, Origo added flowering plants. She learned along the way what would survive in the gardens conditions. Delphiniums, phlox, and the like had to be rejected, but lavender grew in profusion and roses flourished despite the clay soil. Stone steps connected the various parts of the garden. On an upper level a wide pergola clothed in wisteria created a bower.

Large terra cotta pots on stone bases planted with lemon trees studded the landscape

The lower garden is pure Pinsent with its theatrical composition of cypress hedges, clipped box and large trees of Magnolia grandiflora

I was moved to visit La foce after reading her remarkable memoir “War in Val d’Orcia”. Written as a diary during world war II, Origo recorded a dreadful period when the war itself came to La Foce. Origo opened her home to 24 children evacuated from Genoa and Turin and provided food and refuge for 200 partisans hiding in the woods and farms on the estate.  Origo writes:

So at last the old barriers of tradition and class were broken down, and we were held together by the same difficulties, fears, expectations and hopes. Together we found shelter for the fugitives who knocked on our door-whether Italians, Allies or Jews, soldiers or civilians-together we watched the first bombs fall on the bridges of the Val d’Orcia, and listened hopefully for the rumours of landings in Tuscany which never came. And together-when the Germans had turned us out of the cellar which had become our air raid shelter and had obliged us to walk to Montepulciano with all the refugee children and our own, as well as three new born babies - we came home after the allies’ arrival to bury the corpses in the woods and farms, to reap the harvest, to remove the mines still concealed in the woods and farms and in our own front garden, and then rebuild the shattered farms.

On the road descending from the villa one can see that La Foce has preserved and protected its agrarian character.

Just after the war Iris Origo recognized that  many children were in need: the orphaned, the abandoned and the malnourished. A permanent children’s home was established in what had been the nursery for refugee children at La Foce. She created a place that was not like an institution, but a place where the children could feel they were a part of a family. Iris worked tirelessly to find adoptive parents for the children. She was not able to find places for all, and those children returned to La Foce as adults with their respective families for Easter and Christmas. La Foce was home.

Iris Origo writes of the Anglo Florentines in her memoir, Images and Shadows: “If they had a villa, though they scrupulously preserved the clipped box and cypress hedges of the formal Italian garden, they yet also introduced a note of home: a Dorothy Perkens rambling among the vines and the wisteria on the pergola, a herbaceous border on the lower terrace, and comfotable wicker chairs upon the lawn.”

It was into this milieu that Lady Sybil Cutting, recently widowed from her American husband, announced to her young daughter, Iris “This is where we are going to live.”  “Home” was the Villa Medici in Fiesole, the humanist masterwork of Michelozzo for Cosimo de’ Medici.

Built in the mid 15th century, The Villa Medici was a radical departure from the enclosed medieval estate villas which preceded its construction. Commanding a sloping site above Florence in Fiesole, the villa incorporated a mathematical relationship between the house and its related garden terraces. Never concieved as a working agricultural estate, the property was for the singular intellectual and aesthetic delight of its occupants.

After Lady Sybil’s purchase of the villa in 1911, the garden was restored to its original design by Cecil Pinsent and Geoffrey Scott, revealing its rigorous geometry. The young architects were in the process of creating one of the greatest of Anglo Florentine gardens on the neighboring estate of I Tatti when the young Iris first met them:  “No picnic or expedition was complete without Cecil, no luncheon or dinner party, without Geoffrey’s stories” (Images and Shadows).

The restored garden was the scene for numerous visitors and tea parties, and Iris dutifully escorted her mother’s guests, gleefully regaling the gullible with imagined Medici murders and wandering ghosts. It was to the wild slopes in an Ilex wood above the terraced gardens that Iris escaped and made her own domain: “The great stone blocks of the Etruscan wall were as good for climbing, with their easy footholds, as were the low-branched olive trees; the high grass between the rose bushes was the perfect place to lie hidden on a summer’s day, peering down, unseen, at the dwarfed figures of the grown-ups staidly conversing on the terrace far below.” (Images and Shadows).

Iris expressed that as a child the talk of garden design and art was overwhelming. She longed to escape with a book or kept busy with the picnic hamper. She shied away from Edith Wharton, and the art critic and owner of I Tatti , Bernard Berenson, with his olympian pronouncements. Years later she found she possesed information which, once consciously rejected, now informed her as to what a great garden could be.  Cecil Pinsent, now a great friend, helped her to create it: the garden of  La Foce.

A terraced slope secured by rock walls is planted in a  color story of orange and white. Vivid Calceolaria
“Kentish Hero” and mounds of Cuphea “Strybing Sunset” are contrasted with the fresh Iris “Frequent flyer”

In a corner of the garden, white flowering  and grey foliage plants predominate such as the fragrant Dianthus arenarius.

Pathways of mellow granite slabs are interplanted with Scotch moss Sagina subulata, 
Acorus gramineus and black mondo grass Ophiopogon planiscapus ‘Nigrecens’. Inky black grape
seed mulch (used throughout the garden) sets off the striking composition.

Restrained, dark colored borders backed by clipped hedges featuring Iris ‘Superstition’ with the black foliage
of Anthriscus ‘Ravenswing’ are on one side of the central lawn. Paired Japanese maples Acer palmatum disectum
‘Crimson Queen’ underplanted with  Echeveria ‘Afterglow’ add bronze accents flanking the steps to the lower garden.

Topiary, currently enjoying a resurgence in contemporary European gardens, add delight
and whimsy. A pair of signature topiary turtles command the central lawn. Equipped with
night spotlighting, the turtles are underplanted with Acorus sp. and black grapeseed mulch.

Espaliered trees in pots screen a sunny terrace. 

Comissioned works of art by artist Marsha Donohue reinforces the gardens themes and adds enrichment.

Assured, innovative, and with a great spirit of fun, this is a garden which has much to do with the happy
collaboration of those involved and the spirit of the region.

My brother Patrick  used to live on the street located below Tanglewood, a large uninhabited estate 
which revealed itself in tantalizing glimpses. One of the oldest homes in Sausalito, CA, Tanglewood was built in the
1870’s by a sea captain in a “Hong Kong Colonial” style. Pyramidal shaped roofs sheltered sweeping verandas which
took in heady views of the Sausalito harbor, Richardson Bay, and Belvedare island beyond. Exotic plantings collected
from the captain’s travels graced the property.

Neglected for years, In 1994  the estate was deeded to the University of Califonia Botanic Garden at Berkeley. 
 A kind of fantastic wilderness emerged with  flowering shubs popular in the 19th century assuming mad
proportions and the whole cloaked in verdure; a romantic place of moonlight and shadows. 

 Tanglewood, now leased as a private property by the botanic garden, is beginning to be restored.
I visited the garden last weekend on a tour sponsered by the Sausalito Women’s Club.

In the entrance garden shaded by large California oaks (Quercus agrifolia), alum root or coral bells Heuchera sanguinea,
and the Channel Islands native heuchera maxima, are planted with Geranium pratense “Mrs. Kendall Clark”.
California oaks do not like to be overwatered, and the selection of these perennial species, some native, enables the
garden to be relatively drought tolerant. 
All bloom in dappled shade and yet maintain that unique
atmosphere that is Tanglewood:  a wild garden of secrets and enchantment. 

Tony and Elizabeth Duquette built “Dawnridge” after their marriage in 1949. Set in a
Los Angeles canyon, the garden was conceived as an East Asian collection of pavillions,
pagodas and unique sculptures . Terraces lit by alabaster-like Chinese lanterns made
in resin by the designer were situated for al fresco dining. On the lower terrace, beyond
the swimming pool through nacre covered obelisks, presided Tony Duquette’s 28′ foot tall
sculpture “Pheonix Rising from Its Flames”.

In the 1950’s Tony and Elizabeth purchased 150 acres in the rugged Malibu mountains
above the Pacific and proceeded to construct an enchanted enclave of 21 houses, pavillions
and pagodas. Dubbed “The Empire” by Tony and Elizabeth, the garden property was
enjoyed by the couple and their many friends for 30 years until it tragically burnt to the
ground in the 1990’s Green Meadows Malibu fire.

Numerous pavillions graced the property.  In the photo below, Tony combined antlers given to him
by the Hearst ranch, and a cast resin onion dome salvaged from the Back lot of MGM studios. Branches
painted to resemble coral are reminiscent of the coral lavishly used at the Palazzo Brandolini.

The personal gardens created by Tony Duquette are intended to create an atmosphere
which delights. Plantings are not central here, but are well considered for the climate
and evocation of mood. It is the uniquely magical collection of garden rooms inclusive
with art which makes these some of the most original gardens conceived in our time.

Postscript: I first met Tony Duquette when the gallery I work for had a retrospective
of his work. His iconic jewelry enriched our 18th century busts, which were placed on
his biomorphic consoles. His signature lamps strung throughout the courtyard created
a scintillating  environment; an evening to remember.  Recently, Hutton Wilkenson, the
heir to Tony Duquette, Inc. allowed an unprecidented exibition of Tony Duquette’s exquisite
maquettes at our studio. Wherever Tony Duquette is around,even in spirit, magic is in the air.

Once it was called the Porciuncula river, and its meandering path from its sources in the mountains which
flank the San Fernando valley, through the Glendale Narrows and on to Long Beach where it meets the sea
provided water and sustenence for the many Gabrielino Indian villages on its changing banks.  Rapid urbanization
of Los Angeles in the first quarter of the 20th century and a series of devastating floods in the 1930’s prompted
the Army Corps of Engineers to transform the river into the concrete lined “Los Angeles Flood Control Channel”. 
The river truly lost its identity in more ways than its name.

In 1986, a non profit organization, Friends of the Los Angeles River, was founded. Its mission statement
“To Protect and restore the natural and historic heritage of the Los Angeles River and its riparian habitat through
inclusive planning, education and wise stewardship”.

Recently, Rick Magnus and Ron Harrison gave me a tour of a section where the riverbed no longer has concrete.

Noise from the Interstate Highway 5 which paralles this section is masked by the river which is now allowed
to flow naturally. Water percolates into the mud riverbed, replenishing the aquifers.

 Large carp are a delight to The Atwater fishing club, with a catch and release program

This May 17th is an opportunity to participate in a cleanup of the river’s banks and learn more about
its ecology. For further resources and information, contact the Friends of the Los Angeles River
http://www.folar.org/