This article was first published in 2009.
There are few aspects of our built environment more emotive that that of the entrance door. It can mean shelter, warmth, food, security, friendship. All of life involves the act of entrance, from the earliest caveman to the present day.
How many times per day do we go in and out of buildings and our homes? We scarcely stop to think about it, yet entrances all convey subconscious messages which can affect us on deeper levels, for good or ill. Some doorways are enticing, friendly; some oppressive; some just dingy and neglected. Most are probably functional and non-descript, of itself a message just as powerful as the others.
We move from our homes to cars, to shops, offices or other houses. Each time we do this we experience a subtle shift in light levels, humidity, warmth, expectations and intentions. Our mood shifts and adjusts with our purpose and our expectations. Going to work we might subconsciously don a mask as we enter busy offices or a large railway station. Arriving home again, we relax as we walk up the path, shedding the mask as we close the door behind us.
A Wisteria-covered pergola gives a deep connection between the kitchen door, driveway, outhouse and rear garden
The physical structure of a building and its entrances tell us what to expect: grand doorways with tall columns tell us of status, power and authority. Grim entrances to prisons have an unmistakable message. In public buildings especially, proportion is everything, where tall ceilings and doors give formality. By contrast a humble cottage door or an old garden gate recessed into an ivy-covered wall might look secretive or inviting, asking us to explore the spaces beyond. What do the doors to our homes tell us? Most front doors are rather bland or feel inauthentic, for example the many mock-Georgian style doors on modern houses offer us nothing more than a thin veil of pseudo-style applied over a nondescript structure.
In the home, layout and door position is also important. The front door is our formal entrance to the world, the back for our private comings and goings. Yet how many house layouts truly observe such simple criteria? Some houses have both the front and back doors equally visible, with no clear indication as to which is which. Or the back door opens onto a narrow side passage, rather than directly onto the garden. Many of us live with awkward house layouts.
Overcoming the problem of awkward flow is, however, fundamental to the harmonious functioning of a house and its occupants. On occasions when looking at a house and the way it connects to the garden, I have recommended the re-location of the rear door. It sounds extreme but I have had several clients who were very glad they took my advice. Fundamental problems sometimes need bold solutions and the picture below is one such example. Here, a new connection from kitchen into the garden via a (new) seating area made a big transformation.
New French doors give connection to the garden, creating a new experience in this house
French or patio doors aren’t always the bonus they’re meant to be, though. Sometimes these confuse the traffic-flow and can destroy the usability of the room in which they occur. Lines of movement (inside or out) should not cut through a still-point. Of course, sliding doors which truly open up the house and invite a more relaxed transition can be fantastic. It’s all down to careful thought and good design.
So much for placement, what of the physical act of entering and leaving? All too often it’s a bit, well, abrupt. Ground and wall meet at the perpendicular, at which point, there’s a door. You open it, go in or out. That’s it – all over with. Yet it takes a moment to adjust, from one environment to another, both physically (light and warmth) and mentally (tasks, purpose, relaxation). Ideally therefore, we need a space in which to adjust, to experience transition, even if it’s for just one second. That space becomes an area that is “in-between” – it could be a porch to the front entrance or a pergola to the rear. A covered walkway might lead to the car, a path or set of steps might connect us to the garden.
How this transitional space is styled will of course depend upon its use. For a front door, nothing beats a good porch or recessed doorway. The visitor waits in this transitional space for the door to be opened, the owner pauses to find their keys. Both might be glad to be out of the rain, or bathed in a welcoming light at night. Where possible, the porch should be preceded in the approach by a path and suitable planting, building up the sense of arrival. In these days of open-plan front gardens, attention to these simple things can make a big difference.
Where a door fronts onto a street, a roof canopy over the door and some tubs or wall planters might serve. A step up onto a different level might be frowned upon by planners, but where disabled access is not an issue, a step up, off the pavement can make a huge difference – suddenly we are in stasis, out of the busy flow of the main path.
To the rear, where a door connects you to the garden, there are multiple ways to enrich the experience of transition. A pergola might frame a door and be part of a larger structure which defines an outdoor room. Conservatories and lean-tos might be the connecting space. Loggias and verandas make a great transitional area. Where the back door has to be to the side of the house, perhaps make a shady passage covered by pergola, with ferns, foliage and climbers to give dappled light. Choose a good brick or stone and make it feel like a tunnel leading out into the garden proper.
So think about the way you move in and out of your house. Imagine the use, mood and character you wish to create and then find the structure to answer that need. A good entrance can really root a building into its environment and enhance the user experience considerably. If a building feels settled, like it belongs, you will too. Don’t put up with the merely adequate – enrich that transitional moment and rediscover the lost art of entrance.
Posted in Design, design principles, Garden Design, landscapes, Uncategorized, Urban Landscapes Tagged with: design, entrances, garden, garden design, gardens, landscape, transitional, transitions
This article was first published in 2007 and has been updated 2018.
Future gardens will be an integral part of a living biosystem that is part house, part garden, an energy conserving and production environment, a resource for water retention and cleansing, food production area, biomass and environmental haven as well as a sanctuary for the soul and from the world at large.
Why do I say this? We cannot consider the future of gardens without accounting for climate change, which is now having a tangible impact on us all. UN scientists say (in 2018) we have 12 years left before things reach the point of no return. Whilst there is less talk now about global oil reserves peaking and that energy will be in increasingly short supply, it is still true that we have a long way to go before we have a fully renewable clean energy supply chain. Whatever the outcome, big changes are on the way.
So when we look to the future of our gardens, it’s not so much a matter of what style or vogue will be popular, for such things come and go and in this context are not particularly relevant. You might imagine it is a case of asking what will our climate be like and how will gardens adapt. Yet to talk only of adapting plants to suit the changing conditions is actually to miss the main opportunity for our gardens to become part of the solution to global warming and perhaps, even a core part of our individual – and so collective – survival.
House-garden water capture, cleansing and re-use schematic.
That might sound ridiculous in the face of such monumental problems but I don’t think so. If we all decided to make sure that in our personal lives, we were “carbon neutral” (or as close as possible) then energy demands and pollution from domestic use would drop considerably. At a rough estimate, gardens in England and Wales occupy at least 80,000 hectares, mostly in urban and suburban areas. This makes them a precious resource and opportunity for change on a big scale.
The first thing we have to do is start looking at our environment as a living bio-system; in this case, the house and garden, with its connections to the wider world (air, earth, wind, rain, food, materials, waste, energy, communications). Think of it as one cell in a big organism. Almost all the elements this cell needs to survive are coming from outside, beyond its sphere of influence. Yet the way that cell is constructed, used and connected to its immediate surrounds (garden) could, if designed correctly, reduce its dependency on external (manmade) systems. To decrease those we must increase our connectivity with natural systems, namely the sun, wind (energy) and rain. To put it more directly, with have to reduce to a minimum the inputs and outputs of our homes.
A fedge (fence-hedge) uses biomass grown in the garden to create new boundaries. Good for wildlife and resource conservation.
Those items which we cannot produce internally, need to be sourced from outside, as close to us as possible. Therefore neighbourhood and regional systems need strengthening to minimise production/transport costs. This is particularly true and desirable for food products, but also building materials etc. For that reason, even if we manage to live off-grid – the ultimate, but extreme, conclusion to this line of thought – we cannot do it all alone and live in splendid isolation, nor would most of us want to. Many bio-systems will only work efficiently when connected together to give sufficient inputs to allow them to function properly (for example, reed-bed sewerage systems). Local community-generated bio-systems are essential to a sustainable future.
The main areas which the outside garden spaces could deal with are:
- Passive solar gain (microclimates)
- Water saving and (grey water) cleansing
- Waste recycling (composting)
- Energy production/conservation
- Increasing site biomass
- Food production
- Biophilic nurturing
- Nature conservation/biodiversity
You may think this all sounds very philanthropic, but where is the incentive to expend all this time and money “greening up” our homes and gardens? Some of the incentive will be economic; for example metered water users already consume about 15% less water than unmetered and government will gradually introduce a number of Carrot and Stick measures. But as cost of pollution will have to be met by industry and so, by consumers, simple economics means that inevitably everything will get more expensive. For many people, I suspect that having a lifestyle that gives independence and doesn’t add to pollution will become increasingly desirable, as we all witness first or second-hand the effects of climate change. Whilst we all see the horrors of hurricanes and droughts in distant lands, at home (for me, the UK) we see increasingly severe flooding etc. right on our own doorstep. Less dependency on outside systems will give increased sense of security in an uncertain world.
In all of this, beauty and relaxation will be paramount, so gardens will still fulfil this most traditional and personal of roles, giving us joy, relaxation and sanctuary. For example, looking at a beautiful water system of rills and planted gravel filterbeds is made all the more exciting by knowing it has a useful function and is saving resources.
A rain garden which captures roof-water and allows it to infiltrate the ground
For these principles to be taken up by the average garden-owner and made successful, we must resolve two conflicting issues: the subject needs to be driven by a sense of fun, adventure and positive aspiration to really make a difference; and yet we must also avoid the “dumbing-down” or over-simplification of a complex topic, something that can occur when it appears in magazines and TV shows.
An example might be solar panels: it would be wonderful to run your garden pond pump, shed, or garden office from solar panels – no cables to the house to bury, a good eco-friendly solution. But you have to balance that ideal with the cost of initial installation (probably greater than laying electric cables from the house), the limitations of supply and the increased maintenance that may be involved. Having got your solar supply, you might be frustrated to find that you can’t charge your battery mower if you didn’t purchase a high enough generative capability. This is typical of a fragmented approach to sustainability – it’s a start but not really useful just thinking of the power to your pond and ignoring that used within the house, or your car.
So where are we? Standing on the threshold of an exciting new future, I would say. Technology and information is available as never before, and hooking up to the IoT (internet of things) is great fun and useful too. The brightness, however, is troubled by the looming stormclouds on the horizon and the knowledge that the societal cost of failure is high – and will be witnessed by ourselves but paid for by our children.
I do firmly believe that we can all make effective choices in what we do and in what we demand of the world, of business and our societies. We have to make rational choices and sometimes temper our own personal indulgence. Gas or electric patio heaters may be a nice luxury but the environmental damage is not justifiable. Maybe a log burning fire basket is, provided we do other things to counter the carbon emissions, such as growing more bio-mass. Extra woolly jumpers may simply be the best bet along with passive solar designed spaces! Most issues simply come down to us making informed decisions and balancing personal ease with environmental sanity.
Remember, what sounds “eco” or fringe today, is going to be tomorrow’s norm. Get out there, explore ideas and enjoy being the change!
Posted in Adaptive Planting, Climate Change, Design, design principles, Ecosystem Services, Edible Planting, Environment, Garden Design, green roof, Landscape Futurism, Planting Design, rain gardens, Smart Cities, Sustainability Tagged with: adaptive landscapes, bio-systems, biodiversity, biophilia, climate change, eco-system services, garden, gardens, rain gardens, sustainability, sustainable
This was first published in 2009 and is referred to in Wikipedia.
Curves are an integral element of design and especially of landscape, since they make a connection to nature, which does not use linear form. Curvilinear lines are notoriously difficult to achieve as they are invariably of a freeform nature (ignoring geometric curves which are formed by arcs) and are subject to interpretation “by eye” of the person setting out the design. A few centimetres either way can however, throw a curve out, disrupting its harmonic flow.
As someone who designs a lot with organic, freeform curves, I have seen horrendous attempts at setting out curves by contractors who are nonetheless competent in every other respect. It’s not about ability so much as a certain way of seeing things. Perhaps drawing curves that work is the ultimate test and definition of a good designer, whilst the successful setting out of curves on the ground or in three dimensional form separates the artist from the builder.
It’s easy for me to say there are good and bad curves, quite another to explain and illustrate the difference. I have been wanting to write this article for a number of years, but so far put it off because of the difficulty in describing something so abstract. However, understanding curvilinear form is crucial, so I will try to explain something that is for me instinctive, rather than intellectual.
Let’s take as a starting point the difference between intellectual and instinctive design. Intellectually, you might form a series of circles and form a connecting line whilst instinctively, you might just take a pencil and draw a flowing line. The former is precise, controlled, intellectual, inorganic, whilst the latter is instinctive, free-flowing, emotional, organic. This is illustrated at here: need I say which is which?
The left hand curve would be preferred by any contractor setting out a garden: provided he gets the centre points in the right place, the rest is simple. the right hand curve requires personal judgment of eye; it is subjective and so much harder to translate from paper onto the ground.
The right hand curve is alive; it has rhythm, flow, it feels right. The other curve simply jars the eye, it is dead, with no movement.
It is true, however, that not every freeform curve is successful. In nature, animals (and Man) move in curved paths, plants follow curved movements, water flows in spiral vertical pathways. All these have a natural rhythm, and for our freeform line to succeed, it must do likewise.
A centred line running through the curves with offset measurements is the best way to translate this from paper but it is still easy to get this wrong, in the manner illustrated below.
Curvilinear form – right and wrong
curvilinear form – variations of line
The freeform line at top left shows two possibilities: the red line is smooth, flowing, but the green line flattens across the natural line of the curve. It is still a freeform line but it no longer feels fluid and loses its sense of movement. The variation from the red line might be only a matter of inches/centimetres but it is enough to disrupt the visual flow.
To make matters more complicated, there is seldom just one exact freeform line that is perfect for the situation: in the drawing below left, all of the different lines will do the same job. What determines the correct one is likely to be the relationship of it to other nearby elements. Perhaps the most common mistake is to use too many tight reverse curves – to put in too many “squiggles”, in other words. On the whole, reverse freeform curves should not be too severe or exaggerated.
Plan showing a curvilinear setout
Let’s look at how a predefined space determined the use of curvilinear form.
The example at right is (part of) a beach garden I designed a some years ago. The yellow area is the boundary wall – a massive concrete sea defense wall 700mm thick. The kinks and angles in this wall left a space that provided no internal parallels and could only be fully resolved using curvilinear form. The area adjoining this (not shown) was linear in format, as the space there invited.
Running all the way along the inside of this boundary wall was a seat, again of massive concrete. This needed breaking up with the introduction of planting beds, leaving small sections of seat in between. The red line represents the nearest linear form that could have been used but you can see that what it describes is naturally curvilinear in nature (the green line). Don’t forget that all curves are made up of straight lines (curvi-linear)!
The design uses freeform lines to reflect the boundary wall and a spiral acts as a beginning, or end, at the point where most sitting out occurs. This is what I call a “still point”, whilst the main flow of the paving, leading to the adjacent garden, I call a “line of movement”.
I do not believe that this area could have been resolved so well using linear means. The main point to note, however, it that the lines had to be freeform: geometrically derived curves would not have worked, although the contractor would have preferred them! I had to assist in the setting out, but once done, a superb job of construction was carried out. The walls were rendered with a specially textured cement based render, which was ideal for the tough coastal conditions.
dealing with curvilinear form will always be more problematic than linear, or than curves set out using radii. The rewards are however, subtle and infinitely powerful if you get it right.
Posted in Design, design principles, Garden Design, landscapes, Urban Landscapes Tagged with: curvilinear, design principles, free-form curves, garden, gardens, landscape
Almost all urban landscapes are contrived and designed, due to their artificial nature and short timescales of development and use. We see increasing use of mature rootballed trees and extensive hard landscape and this is normal for intense inner urban areas; I do get concerned that the increasing complexity of urban planting systems divorce trees particularly from their natural functions and prevent the occurrence of the biological interactions/communities that go to make up an ecosystem. For example, I have seen trees planted whose surface levels are around a metre below the surrounding paving level. No matter how well designed, this seems fundamentally wrong to me.
So I’m thinking that there must be a way of dealing with the majority of less intense landscape zones (especially where there isn’t the financial budget that a high-end development attracts) to provide urban regeneration, ecological restoration and biophilic connection, all on a modest budget. This would create a new method to allow for wide-spread adoption in urban and suburban zones. I think the solution comes from Nature’s own process of natural regeneration and a developed philosophy of minimal (but specific) preparation.
silver birch are pioneering species for natural regeneration
Starting from the observation that Nature is very efficient at regenerating itself, what can we do? Too often, I have seen unnecessary interference in this process. I still recall that a few years after the great storm of 1987, I walked through some nearby National Trust woodland of pines and birch. A great deal of damage had been done with many trees blown over. Birch had however, regrown abundantly from dormant seed and was already three or four foot tall. The NT then sent in the bulldozers to clear out the fallen wood so the area could be – replanted. I watched them tracking over all the natural regeneration. Why didn’t they just leave well alone? The restoration of the woodland was only slowed down by such clumsy interference and this was not even a productive forest.
If we simply broke up paving in our urban centres and loosened up the sub-base, what would happen? Nature would soon find a footing and things would start to grow; however, that process would be too slow and unpredictable for human sensibilities. So what if we did a little more, adding a small amount of topsoil to the rubble, planting small (1+1 year transplants) bare root trees and shrubs, with plugs of understory forbs, ferns and grasses. Starting so young, we’d generate a successful community in no time. These could be designed as narrow ribbons – two to four metres wide, inserted into suitable wider areas of paving.
An urban area suitable for natural regeneration
The above area was one I thought would be suitable for such an approach; there are many such areas throughout all urban spaces. They cry out for regeneration, yet seldom can this be done for lack of adequate finance. Below is a quick sketch showing how it might look.
Sketch showing regenerative planting
The benefits of such an approach would be huge. It would cost far less than using a traditional approach to landscaping such an area, maybe half (I haven’t costed it!). The care would move from maintenance to management, using a rotational coppice methodology, rather than trim and tidy (which always ruins a plants natural habit. Biodiversity would be hugely enhanced, air pollution mitigation would increase, wind buffering, urban heat island reduction, stormwater runoff (they would act as rain gardens) and of course, our biophilic needs, our connection to nature.
Someone needs to be bold and try it; talk to me…
Posted in Arboriculture, Biophilia, Climate Change, Design, Ecosystem Services, Environment, landscapes, Regenerative Planting, Trees Tagged with: adaptive landscapes, biodiversity, biophilia, eco-system services, ecology, garden, gardens, landscape, native plants, pm10, pollution entrapment, rain gardens, sustainability, sustainable, trans-migrational landscapes, trees, urban greening, urban heat island, wildlife
Curiously, I’ve never really written about green roofs, yet they are an important part of the urban greening scene and definitely a part of my “building biomembrane” concept. Perhaps it’s because the subject is so well covered by the commercial sector and various organisations; far better than green walls but then, they have a twenty year head start.
And twenty years ago, I was putting green roofs into some of the landscapes I designed and built. Here’s one in my own garden, on a wood store: the one at the back is an 18 year old turf roof, with soil and grasses, such as was common in those days. There’s a lot of Sedums, Sempervivum, bulbs etc that have been added over the years, or found their own way there. The roof to the front is about two weeks old, consisting mostly of Sedum album, which was growing prolifically in a graveled part of my garden where I didn’t want it. I put a layer of soil and compost under it and slapped the darn stuff down!
I also have another Sedum/succulent roof over my porch, which is much more akin to a modern extensive green roof, with a mix of compost and expanded clay pellets (ie lightweight aggregate). It is much less prolific and to my mind, less successful therefore. I used to be quite adept at building hobbit-like turf-roofed garden structures from chestnut and reclaimed timber, such as this one, built for a show:
These days I like to do rustic with a contemporary feel, such as my current summerhouse, which I built last year. It doesn’t have a green roof, simply because it faces away from us so we’d never see it. It’s insulated and timber-lined inside, so stays fairly warm with a little help. The windows all came from a house up the road, so fitting my desire for recycling. Double-glazed too…
Of course, the best kind of green roofs are the ones you can use as garden or green space. I’m designing one right now which overlooks the Thames; an early concept modeled below. I’ll put more up on this as things progress…
Posted in Environment, green roof, landscapes, My Garden Tagged with: garden, green roof, sedum, summerhouse, turf roof