Learning from Seattle. This first volume of the Landscape Views series consists of three essays, each of which takes on a structure for an analysis of the two works by Richard Haag. Yet, in each we feel detached if not from the context of the region, then the context of the intended theme, or from the context of a larger study.

Elizabeth Meyer, in an essay entitled “Seized by Sublime Sentiments: Between Terra Firma and Terra Incognita” presents a rigorous and learned argument for the sublime as a contemporary framework for interpretation. Land and water figure as Terra Firma and Terra Incognita, respectively, as the premise for the sentiment of the sublime, both natural and technological, in the midst of the echoes of past disturbances at the Bloedel Reserve and Gas Works Park. Absent though is recognition of Seattle as home to more shoreline and boats than any other American city, where land and water are stepping stones to each other. Jockeying ferries take commuters across Puget Sound giving their wakes the semblance of land-bound roads. The constant interchange between land and water defines perception. I mention this because it approaches a cultural trait of a dual existence unique to the Pacific Northwest. It is similar in kind to the advantage of Japanese heritage in deciphering a Zen garden. How else would you know, for instance, that the gravel is an allusion to the white limestone which characterizes Japan’s shores? It suggests criteria for analysis. Otherwise we are detached. Nevertheless, it is made clear that the Bloedel Reserve belongs to the larger history of the logging forests. We can extrapolate and sense the historical umbrella of the Industrial Revolution. What could be a more dreaded example of technological sublime? Yet the English Picturesque was an encompassing eighteenth-century movement by which landscape architects transformed the country in the image and vision of painters, writers and poets. A question remains: is there not in our postmodern culture a framework other than one which harks back two hundred years to England?

Patrick Condon’s essay “The Zen of Garden Design” promises a development on satori, the Japanese term translated as ‘awakening.’ This describes the reaction given by most who report that the moss garden at Bloedel takes one’s breath away. It is akin to Elizabeth Meyer’s reference to a brain stem response. Condon contributes by making Zen contemporary in the description of breathing as Zen itself, that it is the body’s most important rhythmic relationship to the world. We should note that breathing is controlled by the brain stem, along with other autonomic functions such as heart rate. The essay justifies its structure of dualities by referring to Haag’s “reciprocal relationships.” Here then, Haag’s intentions are adopted in the analytical framework. However, the essay departs from Zen and soon adopts the Greek mythological duality of Apollo and Dionysus, or sky and earth, respectively. We feel the thread which had been guiding us had broken. Later, Condon too adopts the duality of the beautiful and the sublime.

Gary Hilderbrand’s essay offers an understanding of the man and mind of Richard Haag. We come to meet him in this last essay with revelations such as “It is difficult to pin down the driving forces and methods of his work because they are always founded in tacit habits of mind and soul . . .” and, like the title, “Haag is a teacher’s teacher.” What is missing could explain the publication of this text. There is no mention of Professor Hilderbrand’s scholarly tour with students, the seminar and exhibition at the Harvard Design School. That link is broken. Moreover, there is no preface to this text, except for three sentences on the back cover. There is also no introduction to the text nor to the long histories of the projects. Nor is there glue to the volume—the privilege of the editor—except for the photographs. The essays float like islands. We look forward to future issues, and we do applaud the editor for the establishment of the series.

Raphael Justewicz is a landscape architect with Peter Walker & Partners in Cambridge.