HEAVENLY THUNDERS

I feel there is need for some rest from the lofty themes, so permit me to sneak in a topic from the lower Berkeley ranges for a change. This does not mean that the intermission be lowly. Far from it! This blog is about a great choir and orchestra that drew me out from a temporary melancholic lethargy and made me whole again.

In fact, this is the second time I am blessed with a choir performance during my various stays in Berkeley. You may recall my enthusiastic response to the performance of the San Francisco Symphony Chorus two years ago ("Heavenly Choir"). Now it was time to listen to its East Bay Counterpart, the Berkeley Community Chorus and Orchestra. It is difficult to judge which of them is the more impressive, so don't let us be drawn into a discussion about this. Suffice it to say that both are grandiose. It is a miracle indeed to witness their performance at full blast, when 144 souls (in San Francisco) or more than two hundred (in Berkeley) open their golden throats and let mellow tones fill the universe.

The Berkeley event I am hinting at was a performance, last Sunday, of Antonin Dvorak's famous Requiem, with full orchestra, four eminent vocal soloists and, last but not least, the magnificent full bodied Berkeley Chorus. For those not familiar with Antonin's piece, its demanding orchestration and chorusation hardly leads itself to be played at funeral masses. Let's face it, this is a concert piece, if ever there was one. That notwithstanding, at least part of it was played at President Havel's funeral mass. It is said that some Member of the audience questioned whether the lover of Velvet Underground and Rolling Stones would have wanted the soaring grandeur of this Requiem at his funeral. He surely must be mistaken. Not only was Vaclav a true Czech and would not dream of putting aside Antonin, the createst Czech (actually Bohemian) musician of them all. In addition, Vaclav, as anyone else the least familiar with Antonin, would certainly have recalled the important role the composer played in advancing modern music American style.

I was lucky to get to know about this performance in time and have again to thank Karl Reeh for that. One of his garden friends is a Chorus Member who encouraged us to witness this extraordinary performance and Karl was kind enough to take me along in his car. The venue for the event was the large Catholic church of St. Joseph on Addison Street. With its lightly colored interior and aptly vaulted ceiling, not to forget the beautiful glass windows above the altar, it appeared as an appropriate counterpoint to the music. In a way, it reminded us about a rosy late sunshine sky, not unlike those painted by Caspar David Friedrich; against such a romantic background, the wrath of God on Dies Irae would appear the more frightening. And forceful and frightening indeed was the first half of the performance. The full blast of the Chorus sounded like God's Thunder powering down at us with a force that seemed to shake the very fundaments of the church. Thankfully, Antonin's score provided for an intermission, which we put to good use for cleansing body (with coffee) and soul after this onslaught of sounds.

The second part of the performance went in a calmer, more lyrical vain, which helped us come to terms with the inevitable end of our existence, and left us cushioned in God's Mercy rather than defenseless under God's Wrath.

What an afternoon, never to be forgotten!

LOFTY PARKS

Let me start this post with an ancient picture for a change. It shows the beginning of the creation of a great park in the El Cerrito hills, located in the community of Kensington. The year is 1924, I believe, and we see an Italian style grotto already built, with nice bowed stairways surrounding it and a prolonged pool to mirror the grotto in. The view is from a newly-built mansion; standing on grotto's roof, you might have seen a cosy reflection of the building in this lengthy watery mirror.

We can forget the architectural aspects of the picture for a moment and consider the landscape above it. It shows, in an instructive manner, the East Bay hills before the building frenzy started. We are seeing a bucolic grassland, only sparcely intersected by groves of native trees, mostly oaks, where brooks are gurgling or underground aquifers provide the necessary moisture. Now compare this with the view I took ten days ago from approximately the same angle:

Trees: Magnolia grandiflora (Southern Magnolia)          Water: Nymphaea (Water lily)

As we can see, the scenery has completely changed. The distant hills  are no longer visible and, in any case, no longer an open landscape; rather, in the immediate distance, an extended park landscape can be glimpsed. Further upwards, smaller private residences abound until, beyond the crest, Tilden Park is taking charge over nature.

Left: Berberis (Barberry)                      Right: Acanthus mollis (Bear's breech)

Does the title picture show us the original landscape of the East Bay, before White Man entered the scene? Far from it! The pre-Columbian days saw no open grassland on those hills; they were covered by dense thickets of macchia (Corsica comes to mind), except where tree groves interrupted the thorny sea. The grasslands are the result of a very recent invasion of Spanish/Mexican rancheros, some 200 years ago, who burnt off the thickets throughout the East Bay and established vast ranches on the hills. Not only the thickets disappeared, the native grass thriving on small batches also went to see its maker, being replaced by European grasses imported in the hide of the cows (see "The Green, Green Grass of Ho-ome").

Left: Equisetum (Horsetail)                 Right: Foeniculum (Fennel)

Compared to Europe, where vegetational changes have to be observed over a thousand years, here in the States everything changes much quicker. Within twenty years or so, the rancheros had established the open grasslands and, within the last 90 years, the hills have been covered by residences and, in rare cases for our enjoyment, by bucolic parks like the one we are about to enter.

Some observant readers have already asked me, whether I had forgotten about the second garden, on the hills, mentioned in the preceding chapter. Not to worry, we will deal with that one now. I had originally intended to deal with both in one single blog post, but pictures and text simply got out of hand, so I decided to divide into two this engaging topic.

Echium (Viper)

Whereas we last time looked at a private garden in the relatively limited space that even a grand private property nowadays is residing in, today's garden is found in an estate in the old sense of the world, looking down serenely at its lesser siblings below and saluting across the Bay its counterpart in grandeur, the Golden Gate Bridge. Garden is not really the right denomination for this green expanse, so let's call it Park. And indeed, we are visiting Blake Garden, the famous Park surrounding Blake House, the official residence of University of California's President.

Kniphofia uvaria (Red-hot poker)

This estate was created by one of the great families in the Bay Area, the Stiles-Blake family. The land was originally owned by Harriet Stiles, who gifted it to her four children. Two of those, Anson and Edward, decided to build a residence each on the land. Eward's house was subsequently sold to the Carmelite Order and still belongs to the Church, separated from the estate proper. Anson's part was instead transformed into a marvelous garden landscape, due to the valiant efforts of Anson's wife Anita and her sister Mabel Symmes. The latter was a landscape architect and laid out the basic garden plan. Together, the two sisters worked for decades to implement that plan, foraging the globe for plants suitable to the Hills' climate and filling the park to the brim with exotic foliage.

The result of their work is astonishing. The narrow area around the residence is laid out like an Italian garden, with flowers from the Mediterranean and the Canaries populating the slope at the residence's back. The front is a marvel of architectural planning. The elongated pool provides structure to the lay-out, surrounded by lush Magnolias and polished off by the winding staircase and symbolic "grotto" in the background. Golden fish linger about lazily in the pool, a breeze is whispering in the tree crowns, and the greenery around the staircase beckons the visitor to come thither and explore the remainder of the park, lying just beyond those enticing steps. This Italian type garden is of course only a minor part of the park; around it an English type park of artfully "untended" landscapes is spreading its wings.

I was invited to visit this marvel of a park by a new-found friend, whom I got to know first by his astute comments on an earlier blog. His name is Rudi Schmid and he is Professor (retired) in Botany at UCB. The plant is not yet conceived that would escape his universal knowledge of all things green. We have to thank him for the two ancient pictures shown above, as well as for the plants' name indicated, for once, under each relevant picture. He also introduced me to the Park's valiant guardian, Lauri Twichell, who is managing the park together with her three assistants. Only four gardeners for this huge estate? Well, we should not forget the volunteers (to be counted in the tens and twenties), as well as the UCB students in botany who do their homework here.

Rudi and Lauri, not to forget Rudi's lively companion Fleur

Rudi took me on a long and much educational tour around the park, explaining to me all the intricate details of its design and plants. Unfortunately, photographer as I am, I was unable to take all of it in, since I was mostly concentrating on picturing the many small marvels. That notwithstanding, let's highlight the park's important features, as I remember them.

Clivia miniata between redwood trees

The most impressive of them for me, as lover of "eternal" trees, was the grove of redwoods located at the park's fringe along a quietly gurgling creek. When descending the grove, many a small bridge and an enticing pond invited us to proceed, and some interesting flowers, rare to grow under and between redwoods, according to Rudi, led our steps to advance more eagerly.

Left: Clivia miniata                       Right: Hedera helix (English ivy) clinging on redwood

In the center of this quiet grove, suddenly Lauri re-appeared, this time accompanied by a group of enthusiastic children, admiring the redwoods just as I am used to do. Isn't it charming to see small kids, with their heads turned firmly upwards, paying tribute to those red Methuselahs?

After spending quite some time in the cool and calming shadows of the red giants, it was time to explore the remaining parts of the park. As we mounted towards the grove's upper fringe, a green abundance of leaves was welcoming us, pointing us towards the more open oak ranges. 

Asarum caudatum (Wild ginger)

Many an oak was standing there, with their lower branches extending almost horizontally towards the light. As we were ambling among these trees, which generously let through ample sunlight to the shrubs and flowers underneath, I suddenly felt like back home in Sweden, where, in mid-June, the oaken ranges abound with light and flowers, just as they did here on the hills that day. Of course, the oaks with their horizontal branches and undivided leaves soon called me back to reality, as did the flowers who quite differed from our colored companions back home. 

Cistus X purpurea (Orchid rockrose)

As you can see from the next picture, Rudi did his best to explain to me the names and properties of vegetation, trees, brushes, flowers and all that we met on our way. I was unable to retain them all whilst we were ambling through this abundance, but Rudi was so kind as to remind me of the names afterward, when he saw the pictures, so I am still able to provide you with their correct denominations. 

Ceanothus (Wild lilac)

And now, dear readers, comes a first in the history of this copious blog! A juxtaposition of the hunter and his prey, so to speak. Thanks to Rudi you can see me photographing the very flowers that are on the picture below to the left. This was an occasion that demanded the deepest concentration from your blogger! I had to take two photos with different adjustments, to be merged later in Photoshop, to catch this complicated scenery.

Left: Phlomis fructicosa (Jerusalem sage)                     Right: Courtesy Rudi Schmid

Turning yet another corner, we passed by a small cliff, along which the two garden sisters had planted still more of the flowers that are adorning the park wherever you look!

Yellow plant: Sedum

I have already mentioned that the sisters also provided for a "dry" Mediterranean section with plants that thrive in those parts of the world, as well as on the "Fortunate Islands" (The Canaries). When walking along the backside of the mansion, I recognized for once several high rising flowers that I had met many times during my hikes on Gran Canaria. For instance, take a look at the plant adorning the beginning of one of my Canariablogposts and compare with the corresponding plants growing below the Blake House, in the picture below:

Plant in foreground: Echium (Viper)

We are approaching the end of our walk, dear readers! But let us tax your patience one moment longer, by returning to the Italian type "grotto" in front of the mansion, mounting the stairs surrounding that contraption and continuing further up the slope behind it. 

A reward for your patience is awaiting you up there. Suddenly, a clearing opens up among the trees and brushes; Blake House is now completely hidden among the trees, but the most marvelous view of the Bay is spreading itself out before our astonished eyes. Far in the distance, we can glimpse the Golden Gate with its rust-red companion and below our feet lies the sea of houses that is El Cerrito. Again we can confirm that the rises above North Berkeley and El Cerrito face the Golden Gate straight on across the Bay. 

By now we have spent two hours in this marvelous park and I guess you are getting exhausted by this lengthy report. But the time spent on this post was worth it, don't you think? It is not every day that you are visiting the official residence of the President of the University of California!

LOFTY GARDENS

Some posts ago I made the promise to raise my eyes above the flower beds and I think that I basically kept to that commitment. However, there is more than one way to raise your eyes, figuratively speaking. Last week I had the great opportunity of visiting two exceptional gardens up in the Berkeley Hills, which let me lift my brows without leaving the flower beds!

The elevations above Berkeley (and El Cerrito) offer paradisiac conditions for ambitious gardening. Granted that South Berkeley is a marvel of small gardens along its small streets, their delicate splendor is even surpassed by the more grandiose locations up in the hills.

It is not only a matter of properties situated on steep slants providing challenging, but at the same time proficient, conditions for creative landscape architects – let's face it, artists. The climate conditions also differ from those in the lowlands. The Berkeley and El Cerrito Hills north of Campus lie exactly opposite the Golden Gate. This in itself is worth of noting, since the residents there have ample opportunities to take shots of the sun setting over Golden Gate Bridge around December. For that reason alone, I wish I owned a property up there.

More importantly, the fogs drifting in from the Pacific through the Golden Gate tend to linger more readily on those hills than on the lowlands at their feet. The reasons for this have already been explained in an earlier blog post. Almost year-round, cool and humid conditions prevail during the morning hours, letting the flowery vegetation prosper to an astonishing extent.

Of course, fog alone doesn't a beautiful garden make; it takes ever-lasting dedication, work and resources to make the most out of the beneficial conditions. But the hill residents usually are apt at making those conditions work for them and it is pure pleasure to take the car up there and drive around houses full of garden treasures, even if you can but catch glimpses of those treasures from the street.

Last Tuesday I had the privilege of being invited inside one of those promising properties, and allowed to pursue my photographic activities to the full. It is situated not far from Indian Rocks, already known from an old adventure trip of mine. The estate is owned by an academic family, with the wife also being a dedicated and enduring gardener.

The whole estate is breathing serene harmony; trees, brushes and flowers in all colors and shapes are adorning the lay-out.

The garden is spread out over a steep slope, with three small leveled terraces, accessible by wooden staircases. The lowest staircase can be seen in the overview below, with the upper terraces somewhat receding and partly hidden in the lush vexation.

As the proud owner explained it to me, she views her garden as a kind of semi-vertical sea, with waves of color undulating over the surface, in ultra-rapid, as the growing seasons evolve and each flower generation is superseded by the next. A telling metaphor indeed!

Since there is never a freezing winter (temperature below zero Celsius) up in those hills – with the rare exception of 1972 – the question arises how such a lovely garden can stand defended against all kinds of parasites and other damaging critters. Swedish gardens are being blessed with long winters that kill off many an unwelcome garden fiend, but this natural defense is sadly lacking in the benign Bay climate.

That notwithstanding, the owner, a true Lady of the Land, steadfastly refuses to apply toxic chemicals as a remedy, relying instead on nature's natural balance, aided by avoiding monocultures and, if bad comes to worse, assisted by the gardener's delicate fingers, picking the offenders off the roses one by one, as I was able to witness on the day of my visit. As you can see from the pictures, the garden is saluting her dedication with delightful splendor; I am raising my cap to this foremost of private gardeners. 

HIKING WITH HARRY

You don't recall Harry, you say? Well, it has been some time, but there is an ancient blog post to remind you: two years ago, I went to a nice regional wilderness called Sunol and met this pleasant gentleman on the hike. He became a regular commentator on the blog thereafter and enriched it with his in-depth knowledge of the Berkeley of yore.

In my on-going mission to locate all the people figuring prominently in the book "Fiat Lux! ..." I visited Harry two weeks ago in his home in Sunnyvale, far south on the Peninsula. He lives there in a pleasant house together with his partner Francis and we spent a nice afternoon together, talking about this and that as elderly gentlemen have the habit of doing. It emerged that Harry is one of the very few true Americans, in the sense that all his forefathers at least three generations back have been born here. Here you can see him sitting in his favorite chair, after showing me another one that was his great grandmother's favorite chair (he had a picture of her in the chair to prove it!). Unfortunately, I forgot to take a picture of that invaluable link to the past. An unforgivable relapse!



During our conversation I learned that Harry had taken an engineering degree at UCB. I had kind of suspected this all along, since this octogenarian had always exhibited an uncanny sense for details. As an example, he showed me on Google Map, that I should be able to see the UCB Campanile straight ahead, when entering Telegraph from Stuart Street on my way to Campus. I did not believe him, of course. Had I not trodden this path hundreds of time, already in the 'seventies, two years ago and again this year, without ever gaining the slightest glimpse of Campanile?

Well back home again, I had to investigate further, that goes without saying. And, sure enough, if you were standing smash in the middle of Telegraph Avenue, coming from Stuart Street, Campanile would lay straight ahead of you. I had never noticed this before, since I never had crossed the street at this very crossing, preferring always to proceed versus Campus on the left side of Telegraph.

But enough about my beaten paths, we have to move the story onwards! Harry is a great hiker, getting out into the wilderness every week with a group of friends, who have been doing that for years and years. A week ago, he kindly invited me to hike along, on a short walk up and around the San Bruno Mountain. This is a pronounced promontory, placed in the middle of the Peninsula south of San Francisco. It is not really a mountain, rather a large hill, a bit like the "mountains" in Wales. But it rises in sole majesty above the plain, providing sweeping views: northward to San Francisco, the Bay eastward and the Pacific westward. In short, a pleasure to walk around on!

The only problem with the hike was, as I thought when waiting for the hiking group – at rendezvous point BART Station "Colma" – that it was raining quite heavily and gusty winds were sending icy messages along my back. Furthermore, glancing in the direction of the mountain, it was completely invisible, fully hidden behind heavy rain clouds. So I called Harry on the mobile, expecting him to call off the hike. "You must be joking!", was his answer, so I braced myself for splashing paths under dark clouds.

It turned out to be not so bad after all. Even if the beginning of the hike was windy and rainy, the sky soon started to lighten and, eventually, even the sun returned, enticing us to proceed with vigor.

Speaking of vigor, I have the habit of lingering now and then on a hike, in order to catch the scenery with my Canon (a new toy acquired two weeks ago!). Usually, I have no problem catching up with hiking partners, hikers usually choose to proceed at a leisurely pace. Not this group, I can tell you! I had a hard time keeping up with these old-timers and only my long photographing routine enabled me to get the odd picture, clicking the camera on the run, so to speak.

And real old-timers they were, my hiking companions! I don't believe many of them still saw this side of the 'eighties, a hardy group if I ever met one. But should this surprise me? People having been born in the great depression; gone through all child deceases without any modern medication or vaccination and acquired a robust physic as a result; grown up during WW II and having served in the Korean War; survived a long life with its risks of accident and grave illness surely should be able to do some serious exercise even in their 'eighties? We can but admire the lucky few who maintain vitality at that advanced age. Will those from our generation, who live that long, keep a correspondingly robust physic? I doubt it, our life has been too comfortable to train the body for long-time use!

I usually come home from my hikes with at least ten good pictures of flowers to savor. I trust you understand by now that I had time for taking only two, with the rest of the group firmly pacing ahead. So you have to believe my word, that this large hill was full of blooms, many of which I had already seen and documented along the South Berkeley streets, even if they looked much purer and more enticing in their natural habitat.

But there were other reasons for lifting the eyes from the microcosmos at my feet. After an hour's ascent, a beautiful vista opened up, as foretold above. In the hazy distance, San Francisco's skyline rose proudly to the occasion and soon it was possible to get a round view of the bay in all four compass directions.

Here you see a picture of Harry standing on top of the mountain, explaining to us the route downwards and towards the cars, after having collected and assembled – together with a companion and with the aid of his walky-talky – alls stragglers and loafers like me.

Down we went, from a hilltop somehow incongruously adorned by a multitude of masts and antennas and soon got the community of Colma back in sight, resting at our feet so to speak. Walking and sliding downwards was of course much easier than laboring upwards and soon we were – aided by the sun re-appearing in full splendor – back at the cars and eventually at Colma BART station.

Well there, I decide to take a stroll along the streets of this relatively new settlement and it turned out to be a good decision. Just a few minutes beyond the station, a nice vista of the San Bruno Mountain opened up, providing me with the view that had been refused me in the morning by less benevolent weather. I trust you understand better now what I meant by a "multitude of masts and antennas".

Walking around the corner from there I could observe a rather nice new neighborhood of houses arranged somewhat like in the Swedish style. An interesting contrast to the long-established and flowering neighborhood in South Berkeley, don't you think?

FEMALE ENDURANCE

Once upon a time in California a girl was born, with a beautiful brain, both analytical and creative, its two halves in perfect harmony, so to speak.

There was never any doubt that greatness would bless her. On her way, she embarked on some serious studies, taking an engineering degree at UC Berkeley at a time, when universities on the old continent still refused to accept the fairer sex in its institutions of high learning. This took care of sharpening the left half of her brain.

Not satisfied with a job half done, she set out to polish also the other half. Architecture appeared a suitable topic and what better place to study it than venturing to the capital of "La Belle Epoque" and applying for entry at the "Ecole des Beaux-Arts". Here came the first hurdle for her path to glory. The old continent categorically refused this young lady access to its foremost School of Arts. You and I would have returned home, stifled by this moth-eaten cloth of customs, but not this young lady. She produced a second application to the Ecole, a third, a forth ..., each consisting of a beautifully drafted and perfectly executed plan for a master building, a new one for every application. This went on for two years until, full of embarrassment, entrance was granted to her, but at a condition: she was to attend classes hidden behind a screen, so as not to embarrass and disturb the male students!

By now you certainly have guessed the name of this remarkable female: we are speaking of no other than Julia Morgan, one of the foremost architects in California at the beginning of last century and way into modern times.

I have always been intrigued by this female master builder, ever since visiting San Simeon in the 'seventies and admiring the way in which she used bits and pieces of "lootings" from the old continent to create, like laying a puzzle, an impressive monument, more in honor of herself than that of her employer, Randolph Hearst, the great newspaper magnate and capitalist.

Two years ago, on my first voyage down memory lane, I happened upon an entrance door at Durant Street, that looked out of the ordinary, among the many churches that are adorning the sidewalks. I could not quite identify the architectural style: was it Romanesque, or maybe Venetian Gothic, or possibly Moorish? In fact it seemed to embody all three of those styles in one simple doorway. This must have been constructed by an architect well versed in the history of buildings, I thought. Getting closer, a sign indicated that I was standing before the Berkeley Women's City Club, build by Julia Morgan in 1929.

Happy to have found another specimen wrought by Julia, I sought and read some material on this building. Apparently, this was her first edifice since San Simeon, and she was happy to construct it fully in line with her own ideas, after having spent some years down south, forced to follow the intentions of her overpowering contractor. Her engineering background served her well, since the construction was finalized in the record time of two years.

With these facts digested, I rushed back to the building to take some pictures of the interior, but it was not possible then to get access. The doors were firmly closed. As an aside, let me tell you a funky story that illustrates the charm of Berkeley. Short after this failed attempt to get access, I met a lady of a certain age at Peet's Coffee and Tea on Telegraph. She was of Persian descent and claimed to be a Member of the Club owning Julia's temple. She was all charm and promised me to provide access to the building's interior. Pleased about this generous offer, I invited her for  lunch at the best Persian restaurant in Berkeley. After a pleasant meal, spent in engaging conversations, she admitted, offering her elegant sympathy, that she had unfortunately no connections with the Club. As a consolation, she gave me a brochure about the building, which, as she put it, would be quite enough for me to get to know its interior. That was that as concerned my visit to Berkeley two years ago.

Three weeks ago I happened to pass by the same elaborate entrance once again. I am older now, and hopefully wiser, so I rang the bell, hoping for a positive response. To my surprise, the door opened for me and I was greeted by a charming young lady who turned out to be the manager of the premises. When she heard that I was a photographer, she was pleased to grant me access to the building and – bliss upon bliss – even invited me to lunch in the building's pleasant dining hall. What a difference two years make!

Thanks to Laura Bourret – the charming manager – I spent an engaging morning in Julia's Berkeley castle. Whilst walking through the premises I couldn't help comparing Julia's masterpiece with that of contemporary architects on our own continent. I lived in Brussels for ten years and am familiar with the edifices of the Belgian Art Nouveau architects, in particular their foremost representative, Victor Horta. Interestingly, whilst our European innovators used mostly cast iron as bearing building element, clothing them in colored glasses and elegant stone facades, Julia and her Californian compatriots built in a much more massive style, using concrete as main building element. As it has been explained to me, buildings such as wrought by Victor Horta would not be able to withstand the pressure of earth quakes, forcing native architects to find their own unique style.

Julia turned out to be a master of building elegant mansions in concrete. Like her European counterparts, she put her pride in designing each building from outside in. Every little detail in the interior was conceived so as to harmonize with the whole. Even the roof decorations in the large salons of the Berkeley Club were carefully designed to be a perfect simulation of wooden roof beams, although being wrought in concrete as all the other details outside and inside the house.

Although Julia was an innovator in the use of concrete as building material, she was surprisingly old-fashioned in her choice of architectural details. As already mentioned above concerning the details of the entrance doorway, windows, staircases, furnaces and other interior embellishments exhibit a curious mix of gothic monasterial, moorish and other historical styles. Could it be that Julia, having spent so much effort to enter the Académie des Beaux Arts, felt obliged to follow the teachings of that Architectural School, who was at her time still bonded to the building styles of yore, in the period of La Belle Epoque – Gründerzeit in Austria – when it was en vogue for architects to pick and choose from history in conceiving their own buildings?

Be that as it may, the Berkeley City Club is still a masterpiece of elegant structure, with all bits and pieces falling in line to render a harmonious whole. Furthermore, Julia was not above inventing her own modern architectural style; as I understand it, her creative talent came into full bloom whenever she was to design a swimming pool on the premises. Already in San Simeon, the two swimming pools are architectural masterpieces. But they are surpassed by the subtle elegance and shimmering beauty of the pool in the City Club, where Julia is showing with bravour, that she could be a master of Art Nouveau or, for that sake, Art Déco, if she so desired, which of course she seldom did. One of her feet was always firmly grounded in the architectural style she had learned once upon a time in Paris and she refused categorically – in her more mature age – to design buildings in a modern style, such as the functionalist style that came en vogue in the 'thirties.