The sculpture garden at the national gallery is one of those unassuming places that stays with you long after your visit. Somehow there is a personal attachment and an intimacy that the garden engenders which is hard to define. Whenever I visit the capital I try and make my way to the gallery and the garden: even if, like driving slowly past the house I grew up in, it's only to reassure myself in someway and make sure it's still there.
Coming, as I do, from the unplanned chaos of south-east Queensland where landscapes and open space get tossed around to fend for themselves in a "robust" development world, the set piece vistas and settings of the capital appear to me at times to be strangely remote and difficult to engage with. Standing as a lone figure in such awesome geometry often makes me think more of a landscape dictatorship than of a place for Everyman. So if possible I escape to the intimacy of the sculpture garden where I can return myself to 1% per cent scale: default settings resumed.
Strolling through the garden on such an occasion the other day with another admirer of its charms, we realized, however, that while we have been growing old the garden too has been aging. Like a favourite old auntie, some of the little idiosyncrasies of age we had been happy to overlook in the past are, it seemed to us, starting to become a little difficult to gloss over. The views to the lake are there, yes, but, like auntie's eyesight, starting to fail. The seats are slowly returning to the elements under layers of grime, fallen leaves and bird droppings, and are either sinking into the ground or are in need of a bit of a lift, if auntie is ever going to get up out of them. The mist sculpture is always great (when it's on) but seems to be parting ways from some of its surroundings and losing its intimacy with the shrubs and plant material with which it once held hands.
New uses are creeping in as semi-permanent function facilities capitalize on the ambience of the water's edge; new unwanted views to car parks have opened up as the planting thinned and matured.
My colleague and I felt it was time we discussed what to do with our aging friend. There seemed to be a need to now acknowledge that the passage of time called for us to accept that a stewardship plan was required for this important landscape.
Such a plan would ensure that the original intent ofthe design was not forgotten, yet allow an evolution ofthe design response to be developed. It might look again at the role of the garden in the changing environment of the Gallery itself, and ensure that any future interventions and visual and physical connections enhance rather than threaten the characterofthe place. It would certainly need to ensurethatthe physical structure remained healthyand had longevity.
The stewardship of our landscapes, our public places and our urban environments is fundamental to landscape architecture, as it is about ensuring the places we create have beauty, functional relevance and lasting environmental integrity into the future. Whether landscape architects are designing an urban parkland, a regional landscape plan, a streetscape or a private garden, the critical essence will always be about investing wisely for the long term.
The critical importance of time as a parameter for design is, I believe, a defining factor and point of difference for the profession. Some of the most successful projects only really begin to take shape long after landscape architects have completed their work. This long-term success calls for a partnership well beyond the immediate client. It is a partnership with the community in which the work is located and with those responsible for the stewardship of the environment.
Mark Fuller, AILA National President 200-2007
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