When designing pollinator gardens, the standard approach is often formulaic: select a palette of bee-loving flowers or butterfly-friendly plants from the nursery, install them, and call the space complete. 

It’s a tidy process, but perhaps too tidy. In practice, bees, butterflies, and other pollinators don’t just seek out the plants we curate for them. They are drawn to broader conditions — open sun, patches of warmth, and even plants we might dismiss as weeds.

 Many of these valuable species never appear on nursery lists, yet they quietly sustain pollinator populations in ways our planned gardens sometimes overlook. 

This raises an important question: should a pollinator garden be viewed less as a finished design and more as a living environment that evolves in response to its context? 

By allowing for spontaneous growth, varied light conditions, and even naturalized plants, we might achieve spaces that are more authentic, resilient, and welcoming to pollinators. Perhaps the real beauty of a pollinator garden lies not only in the plants we choose, but in the flexibility to let nature choose as well.

The Designer’s Impromptu: From Waves to Lines

In music, an impromptu is a spontaneous composition—something unplanned, flowing directly from emotion and instinct. It’s raw, intuitive, and deeply personal. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FxhbAGwEYGQ

And yet, many of these pieces have become timeless works, beloved and replayed across generations.

 They capture something real: an unfiltered spark of the human spirit. This made me wonder—what is the equivalent of an impromptu in visual arts or in landscape architecture?

In painting, I see this most vividly in Katsushika Hokusai’s The Great Wave off Kanagawa. Though technically a woodblock print, the piece feels spontaneous. The wave crashes with emotional force, the asymmetrical balance, the smallness of the boats, and the distant Mount Fuji—it all feels like a captured instant, full of tension and motion. In a way, the piece feels like a painter’s impromptu: brief in execution but eternal in spirit. 

And it became one of the most beloved and iconic images in the world.

In landscape architecture, our work is often rooted in structure—budgets, regulations, grading, planting zones, and client requests. It’s rare to be given time just to design freely. Unless we initiate our own projects or enter competitions, the chance to create something purely expressive is slim. But when we do—when we sketch without instruction or constraint—we find the closest equivalent to an impromptu: the concept sketch.

A concept sketch isn’t always meant to be seen. It may look rough, unfinished, or emotional. 

But it captures a pulse—an idea that hasn’t been diluted by too much logic or software. It’s where many great projects begin. These are the moments where the pen or pencil moves faster than conscious thought, and in those moments, something honest comes through. 

As artificial intelligence begins to enter the field of landscape architecture and land art, it raises an interesting question:

Can AI create an impromptu? Maybe this is where AI, for all its capabilities, still has a weak spot. It can analyze precedent, automate drawing, optimize irrigation zones—but can it feel? Can it capture the shaky line of an uncertain morning sketch? Can it produce something "unfinished but complete," something that breathes on its own? The essence of the impromptu is not in perfection, but in presence—in being there, at that exact moment when the hand met the page or the note met the silence. It’s not just about the result, but the lived process behind it.

 Maybe that's what we need to preserve in our profession. As tools advance, perhaps the most human part of design—the spark of the impromptu—becomes even more valuable. And maybe, like Hokusai’s wave, those instinctive gestures will live far beyond the moment they were made.

Every place has a heartbeat, but not every heartbeat is designed by landscape architects or funded by large investments. Sometimes, it’s the social elements — the participation of people, the fluidity of usage, the open invitation for interaction — that create the most powerful and unique “successful public place” for a city’s rhythm. Today, let’s explore two very different cases:

• The Fourth Plinth at Trafalgar Square in London,
• A riverfront alley in Vientiane, Laos.

Both demonstrate how community engagement, rather than traditional design alone, builds an evolving identity for public spaces.

1. The Fourth Plinth, Trafalgar Square, London, England:

A Stage for Public Dialogue

The Fourth Plinth at Trafalgar Square is a fascinating case of intentional incompletion. Originally intended to host an equestrian statue, the plinth remained empty due to lack of funds — and it stayed that way for decades. But rather than filling it permanently, the British government and art institutions turned this "void" into a stage for ever-changing contemporary art commissions. Each new sculpture placed on the plinth reflects different social values, political commentary, humor, or even provocation — chosen through a public and governmental process. What makes the Fourth Plinth powerful is not just the objects themselves, but the act of change.

• Expectancy: Londoners and visitors know it will change — the void is part of the identity.
• Dialogue: Each piece sparks conversations among the public, connecting art with civic life.
• Flexibility: The space stays alive because it adapts with time, reflecting society’s evolving thoughts.

The plinth became not just a “location” but a living pulse of London’s culture. (image from Stephan Damon)

In this case, it was the very nature of changeability that became the driving force behind placemaking

2. Riverfront Alley, Vientiane, Laos:

The Power of Everyday Life

By contrast, the riverfront in Vientiane tells a humbler, but equally inspiring story.

Along the Mekong River, there is no extravagant design intervention. No grand architecture, no million-dollar plaza construction. Instead, a simple, long alley along the riverbank organically evolved into a vibrant community space.

• Local vendors set up small stalls selling food, clothes, and handmade goods.
• Families, tourists, and neighbors stroll the alley as the sunset colors the river.
• Without any master-planned features, the participation of people created a human-scaled, lively landmark.

The beauty lies in its imperfection:

• Spontaneity: Each visit offers slightly different sights and smells, depending on who sets up that day.
• Accessibility: No barriers between "designer" and "user" — everyone shapes the atmosphere together.
• Identity: Though visually modest, the alley carries the authentic rhythm of Vientiane’s daily life.

Here, the community's presence and repetition built a recognizable and beloved place. (image from Asia King Travel)

The alley is the very successful urban place because the people themselves are the design elements.

Both London’s Fourth Plinth and Vientiane’s river alley remind us:

Social elements — participation, change, everyday engagement — are powerful forces in shaping public space. Whether through formal cultural programs or spontaneous daily activities, what makes a place memorable and alive often comes from its ability to invite people to contribute, to change, and to belong. In an era where designers and governments often seek perfection through control, these two examples offer a different vision:

At times, the strongest design is the one that embraces incompletion — allowing people, time, and life itself to complete the story of the space.

Every landscape has a story.
When I wrote my very first blog post, that was the core belief I shared: every place we design carries a story shaped by history, nature, and human spirit. Over time, I realized the same truth applies to people. Every person’s path is a story—a series of twists, challenges, and dreams—that shapes not just who they are, but also the work they create. In fact, I believe the journey someone takes deeply influences their design thinking, their artistic background, or at least the spirit and will they bring into their creative life.Life rarely moves in a straight line, especially for those who dare to dream beyond borders. When I look back on history, literature, and even modern sports, I see a surprising pattern: greatness is often forged not in comfort, but through constant movement, hardship, and resilience.

Take Miguel de Cervantes, the Spanish author best known for Don Quixote, widely regarded as the first modern novel. Cervantes lived a life marked by incredible hardship—imprisoned multiple times, wounded in battle, even enslaved in Algiers. Financial struggles and political troubles dogged him across Spain and beyond. Yet despite these ordeals, or perhaps because of them, he created a timeless masterpiece. Don Quixote is a story that captures both the absurdity and nobility of chasing impossible dreams—a mirror, in some ways, of Cervantes' own life.

That story often comes from a deeply personal and creative place within the landscape designer. In truth, designing a small garden can be one of the most difficult and demanding tasks. 

The photo below shows the existing condition of the residence in Virginia.

Then, it was my vision that guided the design of the space for the client. I’ve always felt that designing a landscape is never easy. Like a painter or a musician, the process takes time, reflection, and continuous learning.

It's not something I can master once and for all. Maybe the learning never ends. 

To me, design is the process—not just the final product. It’s a journey of observation, imagination, and intention that unfolds over time.

The Circle Returns: Big Ideas in Circular Master Plans

In recent years, there has been a noticeable trend in the design world: the revival of the circular form in large-scale master plans. From iconic architectural proposals to urban-scale park designs, the circle—long a symbol of unity, continuity, and inclusion—is making a bold return in how we envision the built environment. This isn't just a stylistic move. The circle is being used to challenge conventional grids, create new types of communal spaces, and frame spatial experiences in unexpected ways. I’ve been keeping an eye on this design movement. Here are a few key moments that caught my attention:

2010  OMA’s West Kowloon Cultural District, Hong Kong

OMA’s conceptual master plan for Hong Kong’s West Kowloon District explored a circular gesture not only as a visual landmark but as a spatial device to organize art, performance, and market “villages” within a vibrant public park. Though it was never realized, the concept left a lasting impression on how large urban districts could be tied together through a unifying circular move.

2015  James Corner Field Operations – Central Green, Philadelphia Navy Yard

James Corner’s design for Central Green embraced a circular running track and central lawn, creating an active yet meditative space in the middle of a redeveloped industrial district. The circle served both as a functional framework and a social magnet, demonstrating how simplicity in geometry can powerfully shape behavior and interaction.

2017  Apple Park by Norman Foster

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apple_Park

2019  Reflecting on Aoya company: A Circle of Creativity and Purpose

Six years ago, I had the chance to be part of something truly special—a project with Aoya that still lingers in my memory, not only for its design challenges but for the unique opportunity it gave me to shape a space where architecture and landscape harmonized beautifully. The heart of the project was a master plan for an office complex, defined by a distinctive circular building. The architecture naturally carved out another circle—an inner space that became the focal point of the landscape design. This void wasn't just empty space; it was full of potential. Inspired by the purity of the form and the rhythm of movement around it, I designed this inner circle as a flexible stage and multipurpose area. It became more than just a courtyard—it was a canvas for artistic expression, a venue for public gatherings, and a breathing space in the corporate environment. Events, exhibitions, or even quiet reflection could all take place here. It was an intersection of work and culture, structure and openness. Projects like this remind me why I chose this path. Landscape architecture is not just about planting or paving—it's about creating meaningful experiences through space. At Aoya, the architecture gave me a form, but it was the dialogue between that form and the landscape that brought the space to life.

2020  Walter Ryu Collaboration in Seoul with 100 Architects and CARVE 

In 2020, I had the opportunity to work on a circular master plan concept in Seoul alongside 100 Architects and CARVE, a project that explored playful, dynamic public spaces within a large circular zone. It was a valuable design exercise, blending urban scale with human-centered design, and aligning with this global language that circles seem to naturally speak.

2025 Osaka Expo  – Circular Vision for the Future

The master plan for the upcoming Osaka Expo 2025 takes the circular form to the next level—a futuristic island framed by a massive ring, echoing themes of sustainability, global connection, and technology. It’s a perfect example of how the circle is being used at the symbolic and infrastructural level.

As a landscape architect, I see this trend not as a fleeting obsession with geometry but as a deeper reflection of how we want our cities and communities to feel—inclusive, connected, and continuous. The circle invites people in. It doesn’t define a start or end—it embraces everything in between.

Simplicity. Clarity.

These two principles guide my design philosophy and the way I approach both landscapes and life. I believe that the most meaningful spaces—and ideas—are often the simplest and the clearest. 

Welcome to my blog! I’m Walter Ryu, a landscape architect with over 30 years of experience designing outdoor spaces across the globe, from modern private gardens to large-scale public parks.

This blog is a place where I share insights, ideas, and reflections from my journey in landscape architecture. 

You’ll find stories behind the projects, design tips for creating timeless and meaningful spaces, and thoughts on how culture, climate, and creativity shape the environments we live in. 

Whether you're an architect, a fellow designer, or someone who simply appreciates thoughtful landscapes, I hope these posts inspire new ways of seeing and experiencing the world around you. 

Thank you for visiting. Let's explore the art and craft of landscape design—through simplicity and clarity—together. This is a generic blog article you can use for adding blog content / subjects on your website.