On the Architecture of Gardens by Lev Butts
My mother wanted me to be an architect when I was kid because I liked drawing and had what she called an "eye for detail" since I had once included every board of our hardwood floor when I drew our living-room. I'm not sure why she decided on an architect for my profession instead of an artist, but I am assuming it was because architects make decent money and most artists do not. Much to her chagrin (I assume) I became a writer and a teacher (and thus doubly cursed to make less-than-decent money). While I'm not entirely sure when I decided to be a teacher (I always wanted to be a writer), I remember distinctly when I chose not to be an architect: As soon as I realized there was math involved and a whole shit-ton of work. Pictured: My mother's ideal son. Don't get me wrong: I have no problem at all working long and hard at something I care about. I just didn't care about designing buildings. I just wanted to draw stuff. I am reminded of my mothe...