DIRT

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Many East End landscape experts have had a hand in The Watermill Center over the years. Dennis Limonius was still in school when the first stab was made at a woodland, where lady slippers grew wild. That woods has been tamed and planted, in various stages by Holger Winenga, Geoffrey Nimmer, Ray Smith and Mike di Rosa. Little by little, Larry Lillie invented an irrigation system that kept on working through a dozen years of construction—during which the Center's bigger-each-year benefit party was held every summer. Myriad trees were uprooted in the high heat of July and moved around to make the place picture perfect —adoring and art-loving people thronged to a fairyland that hours earlier had been utter chaos. The steppes of signature Watermill grass, Miscanthus sinensis 'Sarabande' astutely chosen by Aidan Furlong (of Hamptons Grass and Bamboo), create billowing soft terraces that gently wave in terrific counterpoint to the strict architecture of the headquarters building.

The six acres have been phased into scenarios and defined by the fabulous collection of objects, rocks and sculpture that Wilson has managed to haggle away from secret sources and bring to Watermill from across the world. The Meditation Garden, a dense wood of native birch trees, was the first space to be deweeded, limbed up to let light in. Punctuated by a grouping of ancient, monolithic stones, over time it has taken on the hushed tones of a cathedral.

With alchemical waves of the magic Wilson wand, things fall into place. Standing on the beautiful mahogany stage constructed last year in the now-stylized woods, he was delighted to point out how, from its center point, a ten-foot rock shaped like a throne was positioned directly across from the largest evergreen to be seen. Alignment is present absolutely everywhere.

A cool guy named Nixon has overseen the landscape through several extreme stages for seven years. His dedication is so great that the very idea of self-produced woodchips is a big turn-on rather than a chore. Stuart Foster, caretaker supreme for a decade, is the epitome of a 'good neighbor'. And most importantly —every single intern or artist that has danced a step, written a word, sang an aria or lifted a Wilsonian hand has also lugged, weeded, sweated, pruned and planted. When a student applies for one of the 60 precious internships, they are not only asked for their professional credentials and aspirations; but also, will they lead a Children's Workshop?