Black can be described by the absence of color, and the absence of light. Black objects absorb every spectrum of light, diametrically opposed to the reflective action of white. Black and white-simple, spare, and elegant. Black and light? Though our summer light lasts long into the evening, the night landscape is well worth some thought. A dark and rainy landscape can be visually challenging, and beautifully moody.
Black Baccara roses, Queen of the Night Tulips, and chocolate cosmos are not really black-they are dark versions of red or purple. Salix melanostachys, or black pussy willow, has branches that approach black. But true black in the landscape is about shadow-light and dark. The relationship of light and shadow in the landscape is a visual story that gets play every day, regardless of the season, or the time of day.
I took this picture last night after it got dark. Focusing the lens was not so easy; I was guessing. I fully expected to take a picture of the black. My camera actually recorded the landscape with what little light was available via a very long exposure. Living in the city where I do, it is never completely dark. But what interested me more was how the landscape read almost colorless-but for the cream fountain stone, whose vertical surface was lit by the warm light from the street. My yews had indeed gone black, partly by way of contrast to the snow.
Low light reduces contrast, but none the less the white painted urn in this picture reads white, and the shadows cast by the stone cistern read black. Where am I going with this? Depending on the degree of shade, certain spots in a garden may also be described as voids. Contrasting something with nothing-this is part of composing. Like the silence after a thunderclap, black in a garden is a place for your eye to rest, and regroup.
The only reason I am able to see anything of my side garden on a winter night is courtesy of the lights on this tree. Landscape lighting is easy to dislike. Rarely do I see it done in a subtle way; lots of times I see theatrical versions that might be fun on first glance, but tiresome over time. I like my theatre on stage, or my glitz and glam at a hotel where my visit is entertainingly brief. Thus I like strings of lights in the garden-lots in some places and a little in others-even after the holidays.
Any part of a landscape that is strongly backlit will throw the unlit side of every shape black. Both natural and man made forms in silhouette are striking. Composing and layering a space effectively can read in a very powerful way on a dark day. Though it sounds odd to say so, the sky is an important part of any landscape composition.
Iron in a garden shines in a backlit space. My side garden is enclosed by arborvitae, but it is fenced on the inside of the arbs with ordinary black chain link fencing. I did not want any fencing visible from the street side. Though the arbs are beginning to grow through the fence, that black is not so noticeable even now. Dark colors do not attract attention in a garden; black demands even less from your eye. I reserved the ironwork for places where I wanted to see it, and see through it.
This black garden furniture is formally elegant. The lower shapes of the chairs read well against the light grey blue of the stone terrace. The tops of the chairs appear much more subtle against their dark green background. The interior leaves and needles of the trees actually appear much more black than the chairs to my eye. The texture of the embroidered white tablecloth is highlighted by the black table underneath.
The yews in this photograph look black, and the lawn nearly black-even on a sunny July day. The relationship of light and dark in a garden is always there, and ready to be seen. Studying the relationship of black to white, and dark to light in your landscape-what better time than now?
With the sculptures generated by the stick drawings of the kids for Autoglow came the idea to fill the event space with ladders. Why? These ladders symbolized for me the leg up a donation to the Children’s Center would provide to the kids they help, but also the process by which all of us climb into our lives, and get to be contributing members of our community-one step up, at a time. In the dance floor/foyer I hung from the ceiling what seemed like an endless number of ladders- borrowed from everyone I knew. 
I have had a leg up from others plenty of times, just like most people. I could have never done without this. All any kid needs is a leg up from a set of parents, a greater family, a good school and a focused community and a fair world. When any part of this goes awry, all of us who are able, need to step in.
We cut what seemed like a zillion stars from thin masonite, and painted them gold. Gold stars-this a simple visual representation of the achievement of my babyhood. I still remember the gold stars I got-don’t you? My figures were happily floating in the airspace-as any kid should be. 
I did all of the figures, save one. The interior designer Charles Dunlap donated a figure, walking a dog, on his own. His dog went up the ladder and was already crossing over to a new place-his version of an enabled child not far behind. 
The tables were not fancy; the not fancy chairs were every version of black we could find. The tablecloths-collages of photographs of kids printed on giant sheets of copy paper, overlaid with clear acetate. The centerpieces? Flashlights-shine the light wherever you can. Bottled water energy drinks-water, essential to life. Some of the steel ladders we welded up crossed over from one table to another-fun. 
Its important with any fundraising event that the message be simple. There are those in need. There are those who can help. Helping others is the best possible time anyone could hope for. My job is to put together a visual telegram from those in need to those who can help. Let some visual sparkle do the rest.
The few moments before an event designed to raise money for a cause begins- I treasure. No matter what works or falls short, in the end, everything is about the sincere energy of the effort. The lighting people, the catering people, the entertainment people, the Children’s Center staff-so many people came together on this day, to a worthy end. I am lucky to know and have worked with all of them. 
Those figures whose creation delighted me so much were not the star of this event. They just took their place along with the efforts of a lot of other very creative and energetic people. Once the room filled with people, there was a party going on. I am a member of a big group whose names and particulars may never be known-fine. We were just all hoping for the best, for the kids. 
But for staying out until 3am at a rocking great affair at my brother’s New Years Eve in 2000, I am not a New Year’s Eve party aficianado. The weather can be both challenging and boorish; the after midnight drivers even more so. Some years I would head home at 11:30, and listen to the festivities on the radio in the driveway. But in 2005, nature put on an unforgettable New Years party.
We had hung big gold stars and red modern sputnik ornaments in the lindens on the drive in November-it was a good look. I think ornaments look much better on deciduous trees than evergreens-they can swing free and be easily seen. Rob has a way of casually dressing the trees with lights that at first glance looks like his blood pressure is too low-but a second good look says otherwise. So far, so good. Branches, red and gold-what could be better?
Better was on the way; December 29 we got snow. Not a snow storm-a blanket of snow. It fell softly and steadily all day, and all night, and on into the 30th. Snow souffle-everywhere. All that white fluff changed the landscape completely. I had placed hickory fence poles in each corner of the front pots and wedged a giant grapevine sphere in between them-all in an effort to figure out what to do with some 25 lengths of hickory wood and bark strips Rob had brought over from Belgium. Do you see those curving strips? Truth be known, they were nothing much until the snow came. The snow was beginning to make something substantial of something gestural.
The thicket of linden branches overhead caught a lot of this snow-it stuck and kept on sticking to every branch, top to bottom. Never have I seen branches so dressed up. The hot garland lights shed the snow, and kept on glowing. What was to come had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the weather. Timing is everything-is it not?
The snow kept coming, amiable and relentless. Slogging through it during those two days was a workout, but late that New Year’s Eve stands out in my mind as the most breathtaking collaboration of electricity, frozen water and landscape that has been my privilege to witness. Happy New Year to you, best regards, Nature. 
A nine inch frosting of snow on this concrete table and matching chairs brings their design to the fore in a way a sunny July day would never do. All that white snow ramps up and multiplies the effect of those diminuitive lights-never mind that garland lights eliminate all that useless cord and concentrate the light. Fine, some good holiday lighting technology – the entire shop was in a very special state of reflective illumination beyond my efforts. 
The boxwood eventually succumbed, and splayed out from the weight of the snow. I know not to fuss with frozen evergreen branches, but I was wringing my hands seeing this. The older I get, the better I am in not intervening in situations beyond my control. The bugs, the rabbits, the fungus-they get the run of my place. The snow-I have no plans to intervene, only some plans to watch. 
The raindrop pots got their topdressing yesterday. I decided a mix of noble fir and fresh silver dollar eucalyptus would be just the thing to set off all that glass. The eucalyptus wavers in the slightest breeze-just like that glass. The color is bright-not a bad choice for weather which is predominately overcast. A little morning rain gave everything a fresh look.
Eucalyptus stems are wiry, but slight. Sandwiching them between the stiff layers of the fir gives them some much needed support. Up close, the red stems repeat the red/brown crabapple trunks-this a visual bonus. The network of stems need to resist the weight of the snow that is sure to come. Much like arranging a vase of flowers, we cross stems over one another. Under the green, a woody nest.
Pam made quick work of this phase; the fact that she is a great gardener endows her work with a natural and graceful feeling. The greens were stuffed slightly wider that the dripline established by the glass. The dry foam form into which all of these greens are stuffed are bricks that have been glued together, and wired with concrete wire. We have only to come by some sunlight to get some sparkle going on. 
Rob decided to light the pots with strings of clear c-9 bulbs. We set them well into the foliage; the green cords are not a good look. This warm light is in contrast to all the attendant blue, makes much of the warm brown of the trunks, and the olive orange winter color of the boxwood. 
Late in the day, the drops start picking up light from the bottom. The eucalyptus discs repeat the round shapes of the drops.
