Rhumb Lines and the Garden: Power, Flow, and the Search for Another Order

In the history of landscape architecture, lines have always carried intention. In the work of André Le Nôtre, the line is absolute.
It is axial, dominant, and unwavering.
The garden extends from the palace like a declaration—nature aligned to human will, perspective controlled, hierarchy imposed.

This is the geometry of power. The axis is not merely a visual device—it is a statement:

the world can be ordered, framed, and held still.

But elsewhere, in a different tradition of drawing, another kind of line appears—the rhumb line. On early navigational maps, rhumb lines radiate across the sea, connecting invisible winds, directions, and journeys.
They do not impose order; they reveal movement.

These lines are not boundaries.
They are vectors—carriers of wind, time, uncertainty. They suggest that space is not static, but lived, felt, and navigated.

This raises a question for contemporary landscape architecture:

What if planning is not only about controlling space, but about tracing flows?

In my own thinking—what I might call Walter’s approach—the line becomes something else.

Not a rigid axis, but a directional field. A park, an urban plaza, even a garden, can be composed through lines that:

• follow wind patterns
• suggest movement and pause
• overlap multiple orientations
• allow ambiguity and discovery

At first glance, such compositions may appear unresolved, even uncomfortable. This is where the work of M. C. Escher becomes relevant.

The line becomes invisible but experiential. Not 2D, but almost atmospheric.

Escher’s drawings are often described as “impossible,” yet they obey an internal logic.

They challenge the viewer not by rejecting order, but by proposing another order. An order where:

What initially feels “wrong” begins to reveal its own coherence.

• multiple perspectives coexist
• direction is ambiguous
• space folds back onto itself

Perhaps landscape architecture, too, has been too faithful to a single idea of beauty. The classical axis is clear, legible, and powerful—but it is not the only truth. There may be beauty in:

• overlapping systems
• directional tension
• irregular alignments
• even compositions that feel slightly “off.”

Because identity does not always emerge from perfection. It can emerge from conflict, layering, and contradiction.

In this sense, Escher’s explorations echo something deeper—something literary. Like Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, where reality and imagination blur, and the hero moves through a world that does not fully align with conventional logic. Don Quixote is often seen as misguided, even absurd.

Nonza,_Corsica_by_M._C._Escher

This image, released under CC0 public domain, is used here as a conceptual reference to illustrate alternative spatial logics beyond conventional axial order.

Yet his vision reveals another layer of meaning—a world shaped not only by what is, but by what could be perceived.

So perhaps the future of landscape architecture lies somewhere between:

• the certainty of Le Nôtre’s axis
• the fluidity of rhumb lines
• the paradox of Escher
• and the imaginative persistence of Don Quixote

The question is no longer:

How do we control space?

But rather:

How do we navigate it, layer it, and allow it to remain open?

Walter Ryu, Gangdong Bird Kingdom Park Master Plan Concept Sketch, Hainan, China

In this shift, the line is no longer a tool of domination. It becomes a medium of exploration. A quiet guide through wind, time, and human experience.

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