Day 83 - Ming Scholar's Garden
Today I finally arrived at the Ming Scholar's Garden (gallery 217). I have seen this space before, but I never appreciated just what a treasure it is.
It is a place of infinite tranquility, where most adult visitors walk in silence or murmur quietly. Only little children talk in their normal high-pitched voices. A small pool in one corner, which contains four carp of various sizes and colors, recirculates its water, making a gurgling sound that only adds to the soothing atmosphere.
The space is covered by a skylight and is flooded with light. A portico runs along one wall of the garden; the wall behind it is broken by six windows, each covered by a lattice with a different design. The garden itself includes high fantastical limestone rocks, which were, according to the caption, meant to evoke mountains, along with low rock formations that enclose beds of greenery. I have to confess that I can't identify most of the plants, although I do recognize an evergreen with soft needles (a "friendly fir"?), bamboo, what appears to be a large banana plant, and what may be a weeping fig. The plantings are of various heights and harmonize rather than compete with each other. The rocks and plants together combine what is lasting and what is transitory, what is hard and what is soft, what is inanimate and what is living.
The colors of the garden are also restful and soothing: the honey-brown wood columns and the darker brown roofs of the pavilions, the gray of the rocks, the different greens of the vegetation, the blue of the sky above, with its white, fluffy clouds. Only a few yellow and purple orchids add touches of color to the ensemble. For the first time, I really understand why some people prefer to decorate their homes in calm earth tones. (My own apartment is much livelier, dominated by shades of blue and flashes of red.)
When I rejoined the Met this year, I did so at a level that permits me to use the members' lounge. But this is the space to which I want to repair for contemplation, for a feeling of serenity. A middle-aged man comes up to me as I'm writing and says something like, ""I just have to say, I wish the whole world were so peaceful." Everyone who comes here and stays for more than a minute (or wants only to take a picture) must have the same feeling.
It is a place of infinite tranquility, where most adult visitors walk in silence or murmur quietly. Only little children talk in their normal high-pitched voices. A small pool in one corner, which contains four carp of various sizes and colors, recirculates its water, making a gurgling sound that only adds to the soothing atmosphere.
The space is covered by a skylight and is flooded with light. A portico runs along one wall of the garden; the wall behind it is broken by six windows, each covered by a lattice with a different design. The garden itself includes high fantastical limestone rocks, which were, according to the caption, meant to evoke mountains, along with low rock formations that enclose beds of greenery. I have to confess that I can't identify most of the plants, although I do recognize an evergreen with soft needles (a "friendly fir"?), bamboo, what appears to be a large banana plant, and what may be a weeping fig. The plantings are of various heights and harmonize rather than compete with each other. The rocks and plants together combine what is lasting and what is transitory, what is hard and what is soft, what is inanimate and what is living.
The colors of the garden are also restful and soothing: the honey-brown wood columns and the darker brown roofs of the pavilions, the gray of the rocks, the different greens of the vegetation, the blue of the sky above, with its white, fluffy clouds. Only a few yellow and purple orchids add touches of color to the ensemble. For the first time, I really understand why some people prefer to decorate their homes in calm earth tones. (My own apartment is much livelier, dominated by shades of blue and flashes of red.)
When I rejoined the Met this year, I did so at a level that permits me to use the members' lounge. But this is the space to which I want to repair for contemplation, for a feeling of serenity. A middle-aged man comes up to me as I'm writing and says something like, ""I just have to say, I wish the whole world were so peaceful." Everyone who comes here and stays for more than a minute (or wants only to take a picture) must have the same feeling.
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