Cahokia: The Symbolic Language of Landscape Architecture
A pre-Columbian site in Illinois still evokes a universal response.
By Sally A. Kitt Chappell
"Cahokia by Moonlight"
painted by Susan Watson
What elevates the art from the craft of landscape architecture?
Like good gardeners, landscape architects must master the technical
aspects of their medium, but they must then go on to express something
higher, something universal in human experience. In Egypt, it is
the life cycle: the river of birth, the courtyard of childhood,
the walk to adulthood, the pyramid of death pointing to eternal
life. In the Moss Garden of Saiho-ji Temple in Kyoto, it is a feeling
of oneness with all living things. At Versailles, it is a monarch’s
absolute dominion over nature expressed through tight geometry and
fountains so luxuriously exuberant they make the river run dry.
The list could go on and on—Kashmir, Teotihuacán, Tivoli,
Prospect Park. All of these places are familiar to us, and each
evokes both a unique and a universal response; this paradox is at
the heart of art.
North America is also home to another one of these great works
of landscape architecture, Cahokia, located in a six-square-mile
area near Collinsville, Illinois. What is the unique/universal response
evoked in this work? Or to put it another way, what is the meaning
of its symbolic language?
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