Gardens

A Lost Treasure: Midway Gardens

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Someone as long-lived and hugely prolific as Frank Lloyd Wright might have been vulnerable to self-imitation in his work if he had run out of ideas before he ran out of clients. But like Picasso with regard to painting, Wright frequently surprised and impressed the wider public as well as many critics by his astonishing creativity, evident through several phases of self-reinvention in his work. Absorbing much from his teachers, Louis Sullivan among others, he then fundamentally transformed what he learned by creating new paradigms for architecture. FLW advanced our concept of what is beautiful and worth achieving through the design of buildings, and in helping us perceive the aesthetic potential of inspiring spaces in which to live and work, and simply be.

I have previously featured Wright’s 1923 Tokyo Imperial Hotel, located just down the avenue from the Japanese palace of the same name. Sadly, it was demolished in a 1960’s rebuilding program. An earlier structure for Chicago by Wright, with which the Imperial had considerable affinity, was his Midway Gardens, a large and elaborate project built in 1914. It was also subsequently razed despite its auspicious location on the Midway in the city’s Hyde Park neighborhood. Located across from Washington Park, and astride 60th Street, the Midway Gardens facility sat adjacent to the former location of the great Chicago Columbian Exposition of 1893, in an area graced by the landscaping of Frederick Law Olmsted.

Now less well-known than its later Tokyo counterpart, Midway Gardens succumbed to its early demolition in 1929 due, at least in part, to Prohibition and the Great Depression. It is said that the complex was built with such structural integrity that the firm contracted to apply the wrecking ball went out of business as a result of its financial loss on the project.

Midway Gardens interior (above), Imperial Hotel interior (below)

Midway Gardens was created to provide Chicago with a year-round, indoor/outdoor, concert and entertainment venue where one could enjoy dining and socializing while being able to listen to live music. Like the Imperial Hotel and a number of Wright’s California houses, it was built in what is called the Mayan Revival style, and featured Wright’s characteristic horizontal bands of yellow brick intermixed with pattern-imprinted concrete block, soaring cantilevered terraces and overhangs, and Wright-designed ornamental features such as sculpture, light fixtures, and garden urns. As with so many of his projects, FLW prepared and oversaw the implementation of plans for every detail from roof and window design to that of the dining tables and restaurant china.

Of particular interest at Midway Gardens were Wright’s designs for the sculptures and sculptural elements executed by Alfonso Iannelli, many of whose stoneworks were lost in the subsequent demolition. Wright’s timeless designs for the Sprite sculptures later reappeared in stone at Taliesin West, and reproductions of them continue to be commercially available today.

 

A “Sprite” executed by Alfonso Iannelli based on Wright’s plans

Courtyard architectural detail

   

Surviving cast concrete forms designed by Wright

Midway Gardens interior terrace

Unfortunately, no color photos of Midway Gardens appear to have survived. However, photos of the Imperial Hotel help give us a sense of the design qualities of the Gardens structures and of what it would have been like to visit there. The foreign language labeled illustration below helps us appreciate the overall scale and character of the complex, and what a loss it is to American architecture that the facility was demolished, especially when it would be so congenial to contemporary design sensibility.

The Cottage Grove Avenue entrance area

Midway Gardens in its heyday

 

A link to my prior post on Wright’s Imperial Hotel can be found here. I am indebted to the website, WikiArquitectura, for some of the photos included here.

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Finding Beauty in Remembering

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The grave of Hamilton Sawyer, U.S.C.T. (a Civil War casualty)

 

I found an unanticipated beauty in a wintry place a short drive from my home. Port Hudson National Cemetery is easy to overlook, though one of many created by the Federal government during the Civil War to provide for proper burial of the Union dead. It helps us remember those who lost their lives during a prolonged siege along the Mississippi River in 1863.

Among several thousand headstones, some include the initials, U.S.C.T. Wondering about them, I discovered they signify membership in a former United States Colored Troops regiment. Hamilton Sawyer (died 2 Feb 1864), and Samuel Daniels (died 19 Jan 1864), were two of many young men about whom history seems to have preserved only these bare facts. And yet, as a nation we remember them. Away from home and family at the time of their deaths, they surrendered their lives to help secure freedoms already declared, yet far from actualized in the lives of so many. Obviously, no contemporary visitor to the cemetery could have known either of these men. But we can – if we choose to – remember their names, and for what they died. The beauty of remembering lies in how we make present what we value.

Not everyone appreciates the beauty we find in a National Cemetery. Though these burial grounds were created and are maintained to honor those who have served in our nation’s military, these settings do not celebrate armed conflict. Instead, they venerate the commitment of many fellow Americans to serve our country and its founding principles, and commemorate their willingness to put the interests of the wider community before those of self. Most of us can recognize this commitment and willingness, even if we are not all moved to prioritize these things among our choices.

Praiseworthy themes often characterize eulogies offered at funerals. On such occasions, people usually identify and highlight the admirable traits of those who have died, whose lives we seek to honor through acts of remembrance. When done well, eulogies provide portraits of people’s lives conveying an appreciation for ways that certain moral principles and spiritual values have been lived out by them. These occasions would be drab and shallow if they merely recalled how a person consistently obeyed civil laws or always observed proper manners and social etiquette. By contrast, we touch upon beauty as we seek to remember people when they were at their best. For as Irenaeus put it, “The glory of God is the human person fully alive.” This is how we desire to be remembered.

Because of this holy desire, we choose patterns for Christian burial that anchor our remembrance of persons in the body of Christ, in the Eucharistic context of God’s redemptive work. Eucharistic remembering is both holy and thankful remembering. As such, we include an appropriate Gospel reading, and offer reflection upon it. Making connections between enduring Gospel truths and how they have become actual in the dear but transitory aspects of a deceased person’s life, is most fitting. For the sake of those gathered, the focus of a funeral homily will then best be upon what the Resurrection of our Lord has made real for all people.

To honor someone in this liturgical way upon his or her death is genuine remembering, and reflects our natural and common desire to respect a person’s unique memory. In the proverbial Anglican “both-and” way, we can keep a focus on the Resurrection, as we also express our regard for the deceased. We do this by centering our liturgical observance upon the Gospel, while focusing our intentional gathering before and after the funeral liturgy upon the person being remembered. For these different but interrelated aspects of the day belong together.

Here is something else to notice. There is a discernible symmetry between the way different baptismal candidates wear similar white robes, the way that variously styled caskets are covered at separate events by the same pall, and the way our burial liturgies – sacred and secular – ‘clothe’ our departed with the same words, on occasion after occasion. We find a pattern similar to these examples at our National Cemeteries, in how formerly high ranking officers and the lowest ranking enlisted men and women all have essentially the same headstones. In life and in death, we are – in the end – all one. Remembering the people whom the stones commemorate, even those we did not know, makes bigger our appreciation for the beauty of God’s world, and our own place within it.

To remember, and be remembered, can be holy acts. In remembering – even with regret-tinged memories – we reflect our desire for things to become whole, and brought to their fulfillment by God.

 

Historical note regarding Port Hudson:

From the above information plaque: “In May 1963, Union Gen. Nathaniel Banks landed 30,000 soldiers at Bayou Sara north of Port Hudson {at St. Francisville}. A force of 7,500 men commanded by Confederate Gen. Franklin Gardner held the Mississippi River stronghold. General Banks’ May 27 assault on Port Hudson failed and nearly 2,000 soldiers died. Among them were 600 men from two black regiments–the 1st and 3rd Louisiana Native Guards.* The Port Hudson engagement was among the first opportunities for black soldiers to fight in the Civil War. Their determination proved to the North that they could and would ably serve the Union Cause.”

“Among those buried {at Port Hudson} are 256 men who served in the United States Colored Troops (USCT).”

*Additional note from an informative Wikipedia article: “The 1st Louisiana Native Guard was one of the first all-black regiments in the Union Army. Based in New Orleans, Louisiana, it played a prominent role in the Siege of Port Hudson. Its members included a minority of free men of color from New Orleans; most were African-American former slaves who had escaped to join the Union cause and gain freedom.”

Port Hudson National Cemetery on a summer day

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Thankful for a Holy Place

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One of my joys in retirement is once again to live near and be able to serve occasionally at Grace Church in St. Francisville, Louisiana. For many years it has been a ‘home away from home,’ not least because our three sons and their families live not far from it, and because many dear friends are members of the congregation and in the community.

Like so many, we are gathering this week with family as we celebrate Thanksgiving. High on our list of things for which we give thanks is having five of our granddaughters living within about a ten minute walk from our house, and our sixth granddaughter and her brother just a couple of hours away in New Orleans.

Among our grandchildren is one whose remains lie under one of the stones in our beautiful and historic cemetery. It is an especially meaningful place for us to stop and linger in the quiet, especially at holiday times like this. When in late 2007 I was called away to serve elsewhere, the blessed folks of Grace provided us with a burial plot in the rector’s portion of the cemetery. We give thanks for it as one of the most touching gifts we have ever received.

Some may have a hard time imagining how a cemetery, a place associated with death, could be replete with signs of life. And yet, it is. These evident signs of life transcend the presence of the church building and its related Christian symbols, like the crosses and inscriptions found on the monuments. I marvel at the live oaks with their long draping limbs, and how they stay green year-long, often supporting gangly strands of gray-green Spanish moss. More subtle are the fuzzy growths on the upper surfaces of those limbs, which appear to be a blend of moss and ivy. Their common name is resurrection fern, which in dry spells has an ochre color, but which then miraculously transforms into a deep green after an overnight rain.

My former church office looks out upon the cemetery ground in which are buried the remains of dear Lucy, a deacon our parish sponsored for ordination. Every time I walk the paths between alternating old and newer stones, I am mindful of her resting place and those of other friends and acquaintances, with whom we share in the communion of saints. Now, we also go there to visit ‘one of our own,’ in that most personal sense of the phrase. Some day, under one of these magnificent oaks, my remains, as well as Martha’s, will lie next to those of our granddaughter.

To muse upon these things during Thanksgiving week may strike some as dark and sad. Yet, a walk among the remembrance stones of this holy place reminds me of the life-giving texts we encounter every year on All Saints, and in our Eastertide lectionary readings. For, in one way or another, we are all called to visit that rocky ‘garden’ tomb, to find it empty and ponder its significance. There is undeniable beauty in the stories about what then became a holy place.

The beauty of the good news concerning that empty tomb is so much more than a wonder-story about a lucky man whose experience might inspire us. A man who, despite the worst that this world can do to a ‘good’ person, somehow managed to escape into something better. The Gospel story is also the ground for our hope, our hope for ourselves and our loved ones. Can that empty tomb then help us recognize how, in similar places reminiscent of death, we can find signs of new life? Yes. For our cemeteries are places where we seek to remember and honor our loved ones, with whom – in Christ – we are still connected. Here, in these places of burial, we can give thanks that through God’s love we are destined for more than we can now see or imagine.

 

The photo above depicts the cemetery of Grace Episcopal Church in St. Francisville, Louisiana. The church was founded in 1827, and the present building was completed by 1860. Three years later it was damaged by cannon fire from Union gunboats on the nearby Mississippi River, whose sailors were using our church tower to target the Courthouse across the street. (photo by Stephen Holmgren)

A Beautiful Garden: Nitobe Memorial (Part II)

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In Part I, I closed with this observation: one does not visit a Japanese garden in the way one might go to a park, as a context to pursue some activity like an exercise walk, but as a place to experience simply being.

Here we encounter a paradox, perhaps one of many associated with traditional Japanese gardens. At first, for many Western visitors, the elements within such a garden, and their arrangement, catch the eye and draw one in further to an encounter with what is seen there. Yet, what is seen within a Japanese garden exists less to provide an object of attention, and more to facilitate and enhance how one sees. A journey around the garden therefore encourages a journey within. The “spirit that informs [the] spaces” found in “a garden created and maintained in the Japanese tradition,” to which the UBC website alludes, is a spirit or quality of experience to be nurtured within the viewer who encounters this intangible element of the garden.

A carefully arranged sense of space therefore forms a prominent feature of traditional Japanese gardens, where plantings and structural objects both near and further away are placed deliberately. Except for the surrounding walls, there are no straight lines in a Japanese garden, and formal symmetry is strenuously avoided. Plantings and objects are more often placed singly or in three’s, given how two points often suggest a line and three suggest a circle. The spatial interrelationship between such things as large stones, trees, and water features is not accidental, and for the Japanese has a spiritual as well as visual significance.

In Japanese garden design, each particular feature, whether alive and growing or humanly made, has a distinct significance and is purposely chosen for its location. Perception of this is enhanced when a visitor becomes aware of how the elements of a garden’s composition are selected with an appreciation for seasonal viewing, such as at the annual cherry blossom time. Throughout the year plantings in the garden draw attention to themselves through an occasional heightened display of color, or by contributing to a muted harmony of differing tones and textures. On successive visits, a familiar place somehow can seem different.

Plants, shrubs, and trees in Japanese gardens are cut and trimmed so as to appear manicured  just as European topiary is studiously tended, albeit with very different results. Whereas gardeners in the Southern U.S. might allow azaleas to grow unevenly to avoid looking like a hedge, ornamental shrubs such as holly and cedar, and the branches of evergreens, are painstakingly shaped by the Japanese-trained gardener, often into softly rounded forms. These provide contrast to the smooth sculptural shapes of tree trunks, while also standing out against the flat reflective surface of ponds.

Traditional Japanese gardens usually contains a pathway, a design element not unique to such gardens, though its treatment in this context draws attention to itself. For the pathway through the garden can be just as important as what is viewed from it, so that the experience of the journey becomes in some sense its destination. Even in a relatively compact space, a consideration important in Japan, a pathway in a garden can make a small area seem much larger than it is, as the visitor is prompted to slow down and live into the present moment.

Padding along the soft pea gravel between areas of green covered by multiple textures from soft moss to tall bladed plant spikes, one gains glimpses and then temporarily loses sight of what lies ahead. Views include garden features such as a teahouse awaiting encounter, or a low-arching bridge from which Koi might be observed below the still water’s surface.

The UBC website says that “Nitobe Memorial Garden is considered one of the most authentic Japanese gardens outside of Japan.” A testament to this perception was provided by Emperor Akihito during a visit there. He said that, while in this garden, “I am in Japan.” Enhancing this sense of being in Japan is the presence of a traditional Japanese house in which opportunities to experience the ‘tea ceremony’ are seasonally available.

 

A Beautiful Garden: Nitobe Memorial (Part I)

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The Nitobe Memorial Garden on the grounds of the University of British Columbia (UBC) is readily recognizable as a traditional Japanese garden. Like other gardens of this type, it provides an experience of tranquility. Even in an urban area such as Vancouver, Nitobe Garden offers a quiet refuge from daily life concerns and tensions that visitors might carry with them.

An interpretive guide to “understanding Japanese Gardens,” found on the UBC Botanical Garden website, asserts the following:

… it is almost impossible to clearly state what defines a Japanese garden. Many Japanese resist classifying and categorizing the various features of Japanese gardens.

The website attributes this reluctance to the idea that beauty “not explained allows the viewer to remain in a state of wonder.” This worthy observation applies as much to modern abstract painting as it does to historic patterns of landscape arrangement. Yet, in this and in the next post, I will articulate characteristics that enable us to distinguish a traditional Japanese garden from, for example, a casual English cottage garden or a formal French garden.

The UBC website acknowledges how “most visitors can tell when they have entered a garden created and maintained in the Japanese tradition,” crediting this perception to people who “are sensing the Japanese spirit that informs these spaces.” This may be due to how various strands within Japan’s cultural history have coalesced to form a recognizable ‘style’ manifest in its gardens. Among the results of such a melding process, we can identify and describe several features in the Nitobe Garden that are common to other well-known Japanese gardens.

We can begin by observing how gardens and parks found in the East and in the West have a number of shared attributes. Among them, most gardens and parks around the world feature a scheme for the arrangement of their various parts even if it is not readily evident to visitors. Many such places appear to promote and preserve a ‘natural’ quality among the things growing in them, even in formal gardens. Some gardens and parks accentuate this natural element, perhaps in deliberate contrast to surrounding urban areas. This fosters an impression that the plants, shrubs, and trees have grown where they are of their own accord, and in their own way, regardless of any horticultural tending they have received. Especially in the West, ‘nature’ and that which is ‘natural’ are seen as what does not readily bear the imprint of human interaction, and as emerging more from its roots than from our planning.

Western gardens and parks may have gates, but often their entrance designs accentuate pubic access, providing a continuity of experience for visitors who may have potted plants or flowers where they live and work. In this sense, these garden and park entranceways draw people in from what is less into what is more. In the process, visitors are likely to encounter familiar though markedly larger and more extensively planted shrubs and trees, many of which do not appear to have been shaped or altered by human hands.

Formal gardens both East and West usually have marked boundaries and even barriers between what is within and that which is outside. Traditional Japanese gardens are typically surrounded by view-blocking walls topped by a ceramic tile parapet. These indicate a formal boundary between the transient outside world of energy-charged daily activity and the stillness available within, where visitors are subtly bidden to release their grasp upon time and their surroundings.

Imposing entrance gates mark a portal to a different realm lying beyond, as much as they appear to provide a barrier protecting what is within. Though these gates and the walls around a Japanese garden may serve to keep out intruders and foraging animals, they exist primarily for the sake of those who enter and take time there. For one does not visit a Japanese garden in the way one might go to a park, as a context to pursue some activity like an exercise walk, but as a place to experience simply being.

In the next post we will continue to explore what is identifiably distinctive about traditional Japanese gardens like the Nitobe Memorial.