Garden as a Performance

Prince Hermann von Pückler-Muskau, the owner of the Muskau Park (now in Germany and Poland), an aristocratic gardener and author of Hints on Landscape Gardening (Andeutungen über Landschaftsgärtnerei, 1834; translated into English for Riverside Press, Cambridge, MA, 1917) was strongly inspired by the English gardening tradition. It is not surprising, then, that he interpreted garden art in largely visual terms as the art of creating picturesque landscapes, that is, vistas delightful for their variety of color and composition. He supported this aesthetic approach with numerous technical “hints” on how to create and maintain a garden, especially one as large as his own.

The practical side of the author’s interests allows one to think of the book as a kind of manual of landscape architecture, even though von Pückler-Muskau, whose ideas influenced the first American landscape architects, including Samuel Bowne Parsons Jr. (who commissioned the above-mentioned translation), did not conceive of gardening as architecture. However, he does make an interesting reference: “one might compare a higher garden art with music and, at least as fitly as architecture has been called ‘frozen music,’ call garden art ‘growing music’” (118). This comparison is meant to emphasize several things: that nature provides the gardener with materials and models, that it must be artfully composed into a harmonious whole in order to evoke emotions, and, finally, that the work of garden art is imbued with spirit, i.e., ideas.

If we focus on these minor remarks, made somewhat en passant to illustrate the relationship between art and nature in Romantic landscape gardens, we can discover a new dimension to von Pückler’s account in the light of what he says about the temporal character of both gardens and the aesthetic experiences one has when visiting them. With regard to the former, he emphasizes that a garden is constantly changing over time. Plants grow over the years, altering or even destroying the views, and they look different depending on the season, the weather, or the time of day. In addition, the views that a garden offers are dynamic because of factors such as wind that moves grass or water that flows in streams. These dynamics are reflected in the dynamic nature of the aesthetic experience, since visiting a garden requires moving from one place to another (for Prince Hermann, preferably by carriage). In this way, one can not only reach the designed vantage points from which one can appreciate artfully composed landscapes full of life, but one can also admire a sequence of landscapes that gradually appear as one travels. In a word, as a garden is a process, so is its experience.

The ontological and phenomenal temporality of gardens is now widely recognized as a legacy of the landscape garden aesthetic developed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. It is expressed, among other things, by such expressions as “living work of art” or “living monument” (in the case of a historic garden), used by art historians or garden conservationists. Undoubtedly, the quality of liveliness refers to the presence of nature, understood mainly as organic nature, and implies that its significance goes far beyond its purely material aspect. Nature as a “medium” in which a garden design (plans, meanings, and function) is realized seems so special that it distinguishes gardens from other works of art, such as paintings, or monuments, such as architecture. One reason for this is that nature in gardens is largely independent of, and very often in contrast to, human ideas and expectations.

From an aesthetic as well as a technical point of view, the organic nature of nature means changeability, transience, and unpredictability. These are the characteristics that distinguish gardens or landscape architecture in general from other works of art with which they have traditionally been compared. They determine not only the ontology of gardens but also their aesthetic side—that is, their appearance, atmosphere, or mood—and, at least in part, the meanings they can convey. Thus, they accompany and complete the design, which is equally important from an ontological and aesthetic point of view, and, at the same time, they inevitably question it. The reference to music serves to bring to the fore what can either be completely overlooked, or at least reduced to a mere down-to-earth practicality, when gardens are compared to paintings or architecture. Thinking of gardens in terms of music allows one to appreciate the agency of nature, which cannot be seen merely as a passive material that receives designed and desirable forms and meanings.

In fact, likening gardens to music (or theater) and consequently gardening to staging “garden performances” may be a useful way of recognizing and acknowledging the aesthetic significance of nature in gardens. Undoubtedly, like any other metaphor, this one comes at a cost, but there are good reasons to pay it. Regardless of how we define a garden, whether we consider it a work of art, or how we conceptualize it in terms of nature versus culture, nature and culture, or “natureculture,” it is impossible to ignore the fact that the aesthetic experience of a garden is determined not only by its design and how it is realized in nature, but also by nature in its naturalness (Malcolm Budd). For aesthetic appreciation of a garden, i.e., a human-made environment, it is crucial to recognize that garden art—here, the term “art” covers both the technē of gardening and that which brings gardening close to the fine arts—is not only made possible by nature, but also completed and opposed by nature, which is understood as non-art or the non-human. It is impossible to appreciate a garden aesthetically in full without taking into serious consideration that aesthetic appreciation of design must be accompanied by aesthetic appreciation of natural order (Allen Carlson).

Moreover, it is possible to overlook the fact that gardens are human creations, with an underlying intention and cultural context that determine their meanings and functions. Adopting such a perspective means, of course, losing the concept of the garden and experiencing nature aesthetically in a way that differs from experiencing a garden aesthetically. Even if it may be considered inadequate, it is possible to aesthetically appreciate a garden landscape, (wrongly) assuming it is a wild one, just as it is possible to aesthetically appreciate a flower or a tree without knowing that it is a specimen of a species created (or cocreated) by humans and that it was planted intentionally as a symbol. Conversely, it seems impossible to overlook the presence of nature in a garden, as this would mean failing to recognize that what is being appreciated is a garden. What would be the difference, aesthetically, between appreciating a garden made of concrete and one made of living nature? The artistic mastery of topiary (as well as the ethical issues surrounding this practice) stems from the fact that it involves shaping a shrub or tree rather than molding plastic or carving stone. In other words, a full and adequate aesthetic experience of a garden requires nature to be acknowledged as a cocreator.

This requirement is universal in the sense that we must fulfill it regardless of whether we opt for aesthetic formalism or cognitivism, or whether we are inclined to associate an aesthetic experience with an engaged, lived experience (Arnold Berleant), or with contemplation or reasoning.

Considering gardens as performative artworks (Mikel Dufrenne compares gardens to dances, which seems a better suggestion than music) or, briefly, as performances (Mateusz Salwa) allows one to acknowledge nature’s agency. While non-performing arts such as painting, sculpture, and architecture imply that only the author and the public are involved, performing arts are triadic in that they also require a performer (Gordon Graham). Furthermore, performing arts require performances, i.e., the enactment of what has been planned by the author, which makes the work perceivable and possible for the audience to appreciate. This means that, for example, in music and dance, the artwork is cocreated by the performers every time they perform it. Even though these performances represent what the author has created, they inevitably vary over time as they are performed differently, sometimes by different performers. Not to mention, they depend on external factors, including the audience.

If we apply these remarks to a garden, we can substitute the designer for the author, nature for the performer, and the visitors for the audience. It is also nature (together with society) that determines how a garden evolves over time. So, what would a garden performance be? It is all that is “going on” in a garden while we are there. While it is undoubtedly designed, its performance is also determined by the extent to which nature takes its course, depending on its own rhythms, cycles, and laws. Not to mention unforeseen circumstances, which are mainly natural but also societal.

Prince Hermann was well aware that his ideas could only be expressed with the help of nature, and that it could support or compromise his plans. He writes, “The chief tool which we use—that is, our brush and chisel—is the spade for construction; the chief tool for maintenance and improvement is the axe” (106; italics in the original). He designed his garden as an ongoing process in which art and nature would interweave and interact. Visitors were invited to participate by contemplating the garden’s various stages.

The result of his gardening ideas, as well as those of several generations of subsequent owners and gardeners, can still be seen today. Thus, it is possible to experience the performances he initially “choreographed,” even though, in many respects, the performers have overshadowed the original author. This may be the fate of all old gardens, where the aesthetic qualities of nature may overshadow the original design. However, even in gardens where the design is supposed to be of primary importance, one should not ignore nature’s role as a performer, otherwise the very concept of a garden will be compromised.

Mateusz Salwa

Mateusz Salwa is an assistant professor and the head of the Department of Aesthetics at the Faculty of Philosophy at the University of Warsaw in Poland. His academic interests focus on environmental and landscape aesthetics.