The garden is a collection of varied, dense moments; a microcosm of species and animals; a
meeting of nature and artifice. Sanctuary and cloister, it is the interior and the outside, the real and
the mythical, the concrete and mundane and the dreamy and fantastic.
I imagine dark, overripe gardens. The creation of a lush winter. Fertile, fermenting, rotten
and eaten gardens. They become cauldrons. Joel Fisher spoke to me once of experiencing his yard
after the first frost, and the wonderful smell of his garden dying.
Or Frances Hodgson Burnett's secret garden, with the thrill of dormancy and enclosure --
creating a solitude that is full rather than lonely.
Or the freshness and order of a vegetable garden, with muddiness and the enchantment of
cultivation, and the arrangement of specimens.
How do I make these pieces living and growing, rather than dead specimens and pressed
A garden is a dense place of roots.
--from the thesis