It was raining when we arrived at the Cleveland Cultural Gardens on Monday. Winter is much more tangible than just two weeks before - the wind was slicing through hundred-year-old oak trees - so we huddled under a tiny umbrella while walking around East Boulevard.
The Cleveland Cultural Gardens were born in 1916 when journalist Leo Weidenthal established the Shakespeare Garden and conceived the idea of a garden chain that would represent the cultures around the world. More importantly, they would stand as symbols of cooperation, inclusivity, and peace. Since then, 33 gardens sprouted from the soils of Rockefeller Park, serving as ambassadors for the people who voyaged across oceans only to end their journey in this city.
We had many things in mind. We know that the cultural gardens are going to b the final chapter in the game, the final destination for the traveler. Which gardens should we include? What aspects should we choose? How can we represent the locations in digital graphics without losing their immersive qualities? And finally, how can we tell the history behind each garden, with every single one bearing so much weight with the stories of their people? So, to find the answers, we set foot on wet grass and fallen autumn leaves.
With some preliminary research, we decided to explore five gardens: Syrian, Indian, Italian, Greek, and Chinese. As we walked along the fading green paths with cars speeding beside us, I felt a strange pull - perhaps one of time - pulling us to the past, witnessing history corrode and lost its gilded coat, yet refurnished gain with intention and care.
The gardens themselves, at first glance, seem underwhelming. The Syrian Garden was just a circular open space surrounded by shrubs and a series of engraved stone slabs. However, if you look just a little bit closer, each slab details the history of the Syrian people, from the cradle of civilization to modern times. The waxing and waning of prosperity are just like the empty plant stand in the center, I thought, waiting for the next spring to come so the flowers can finally bloom. The Indian and Italian Gardens took on a slightly different approach to represent their culture. Instead of history, the Indian Garden detailed the virtues promoted by Mahatma Gandhi, while the Italian Garden has prominent philosophers, thinkers, and poets documented.
The architecture of the first three gardens we visited bears several similarities: each has a circular layout with inscriptions of some kind surrounding a central object, and as we walked to the fourth, we started to let our ideas roam free. Just as we were discussing potential game mechanisms, the Greek Garden appeared like magic.
This is so far the most architecturally interesting garden, with Pylons and Columns calling back to the aesthetics and designing feats of ancient times. I walked around the space, now barren with life, and looked at my reflection in the pond nestled deep in. It was life water, I later learned, and I thought back to that moment, feeling the eyes of gods boring into me through that surface.
The Chinese Garden near the Wade Oval again surprised us with its unconventional dedication from all the previous gardens. My first impression was stark white. The stone railings contrasted harshly with the sky, shining like a ray of beacon, cutting sharply through the dim gray. The statue of 孔子 looks down at us kindly, forever the same. This constant gives me peace, his gaze - immortalized in books, scriptures, and statues - has been the same for three thousand years, and will remain unmoving in the future, awaiting patiently his next visitors.
Later, as we ate lunch on Euclid Ave, we reflected upon the journey. It was certainly a refreshing experience, the late November rain pulling a mist and mystery over my senses, new perspectives that come from immersing in the places at which so many people make their cultural imprints, transforming this once unfamiliar city into their home. There's an undeniable similarity between my experience with theirs; I connect with people I've never met, whose faces will be forever obscured by history. But I, too, made the voyage across oceans just like them; I, too, tried to find my belonging and identity; and I hope that I, too, can call the city my home.
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