#tree uplighting

[procrastinatingpixels]

Traditional Pool

Example of a mid-sized classic backyard stamped concrete and rectangular natural pool fountain design

[vintagehomecollection]

The Floral Decorator, 1993

[projecto-educativo-apordoc]

Inspiration for a large, traditional, summertime backyard with concrete pavers and a fire pit.

Mendes 1998

[mortiz888-blog]

How to Uplight Your Trees for Night Time Landscape Design.

Title: Illuminating Nature: A Guide to Uplighting Trees in Your YardIntroduction:Adding outdoor lighting to your yard not only enhances the aesthetic appeal but also creates a warm and inviting atmosphere. Uplighting trees is a popular technique that can transform your garden into a magical oasis after dark. In this gu

[johnnyvenusgf]

Landscape Fountain Here is an illustration of a small, contemporary courtyard water fountain landscape.

[mrdelamont]

Modern Landscape - Pathway

Inspiration for a mid-sized modern partial sun front yard garden path in fall.

[chocolatespacemuffins]

Front Yard - Traditional Landscape

Inspiration for a large traditional full sun front yard stone landscaping.

[infinity-bloom]

Beach Style Landscape Los Angeles This is an illustration of a medium-sized, full-sun concrete paver walkway along the coast.

[yg-trollsonme]

Landscape - Natural Stone Pavers

Ideas for a sizable, eclectic backyard with stone landscaping and partial sun.

[laislandia]

Landscape Brick Pavers This is an illustration of a sizable brick garden path in a traditional shaded backyard.

[sesakamonster]

Landscape Fire Pit Philadelphia Inspiration for a large, traditional, summertime backyard with concrete pavers and a fire pit.

[demyxix]

New York Traditional Landscape Inspiration for a large, traditional, stone driveway in the front yard with full sun.

[eerieheadquarters]

Front Yard Natural Stone Pavers Design ideas for a large traditional full sun front yard stone landscaping.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Stunning 1928 stone home in Hamden, CT was an art college from 1960 to 1963. 6bds, 8ba, 8,430 sq ft, $2.499m.

As soon as you enter the main entrance hall, the first thing you notice is the unusual light wood. Love the big niche on the right, too.

Lovely oval room with soft uplighting around the crown molding.

Love the soft colors. Peach is so pretty with the gray ceiling. Beautiful fireplace, too.

Very elegant dining room. Looks like the cabinet in the corner is a built-in.

Love the kitchen cabinetry. Every room in this home is so elegant.

Look at the stairs in the kitchen. I think that they go up to the primary bedroom.

Gorgeous sunroom.

What a library. This is a real library- rich dark wood, floor-to-ceiling shelves and a fireplace. Perfection.

This family room looks like a fun place to gather, and it certainly has enough seating. It even has a bar in the corner and I love the balcony.

The huge flat screen also makes it a comfortable home theater.

Very nice primary bedroom. It's large enough to decorate in any style the new owner likes.

Interesting ensuite. I don't care for all the stairs. It seems like they did it for effect, rather than convenience.

Then, there's a sweet little sunroom, too. They've got lots of furniture crammed in here, though.

This secondary bedroom is lovely.

This looks like a little studio guest apt. Very cute.

And, it even has a vintage bath.

The stairs are beautiful, and there are lots of them, b/c this house has several floors.

The attic is finished and has a cool red pool room.

Very nice lawn and shade trees.

Beautiful patio and pool.

It's nice all lit up at night.

Pretty patio.

0.78 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6-Prospect-Ct-Hamden-CT-06517/57911616_zpid/

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Chiaroscuro - Part 3 (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Vampire AU Rated/warnings: G - none Word count: 2.6k Art by @bridgertontess

Part 2 Part 4 Masterpost

Fortunately, your job didn’t currently require much interaction with people. Since organizing the museum’s latest nighttime exhibition, you had fallen into a lull of cataloging works in the basement storage rooms and catching up on paperwork. It was a mercy, because if you had been forced to make smalltalk with coworkers you would have inevitably snapped and blubbered out all of the fear and anxiety and rage that was held just at bay behind your fake smile. But there was no one to prod you for your life updates today. Just you and the artworks in the softly lit facilities under the exhibition halls. Ballerinas and olive trees and moon-faced youths, going on about their antiquated business as you carefully inspected and sorted them with gloved hands. They invited your company without requiring any interaction, which made them the best companions of all.

You knew your shift was over when the music began to waft down from above, classical string covers of modern pop songs. This had been your idea. It seemed to match the goal of the events you had planned for the museum, drawing the cool young crowds of the city into proximity with the old works of the greats. Everything, even boring old Neoclassicism, became sexier at night especially when coupled with cocktails and a decent playlist. By charging the yuppies an inflated ticket price in exchange for a tipple and Van Gogh projections dancing across the walls, your events had been a boon to the museum and became a point of pride for yourself.

You could have gone home but decided that sitting alone with your thoughts wouldn’t lead to anything productive. Not when you were still so raw. You were already out, you might as well make the most of it and survey how your event was being received. If nothing else it was time you could spend with the paintings, all of those works that you loved and had memorized over your years of curation. You didn’t have much time left to enjoy them, a knowledge that filled you with equal parts panic and despair. You needed to start absorbing them as best you could, creating a new gallery in your mind that you hoped you would be able to navigate as deftly as the physical one where you had built your career.

Swiping a cocktail from a tray you moved through the exhibition halls, normally so brightly lit but now starkly shadowed, with the grandeur of the gilded frames leering out against fuchsia, purple and blue uplighting. The same colors as your hyacinths, you reminded yourself. Attendance was high with clusters of visitors to be found in every corner and hallway, balancing wine glasses and meandering in chic office wear. You felt a weight dragging in your core as you started to mourn the experiences you already knew you would lose. Then you recognized a silhouette, someone standing alone by a large landscape. It was Ben.

This wasn’t entirely a shock. In fact, you had seen him at several of your nighttime exhibitions before. Everything you knew about him was starting to piece together. A man of fine tastes, wealthy and invested in poetry, wine and art. You had never approached him when you saw him at your previous events and weren’t even sure if he knew you worked at the museum. Each time he was present he was surrounded by people. He seemed to exude a kind of magnetism, with visitors gravitating to hear his insights and banter. You never got close enough to hear the full conversation but could tell he was both captivating and witty given how keenly everyone listened to him and how often they laughed. How a man walked around with such qualities and looked the way he did without someone (or several people) on his arm, was a mystery to you. But tonight for the first time, you saw him by himself.

It was almost as if fate had put him directly in your path, granting you an easy opportunity to thank him for his act of kindness earlier that day. Circumstances had been cruel to you lately so you wouldn’t question this happy turn. You walked over, noting how perfectly the shadows cut against his jaw and brow. He was dangerously handsome and you chastised yourself again for not trying to get to know him sooner.

“Ben!” Your faux smile came a little easier as you greeted him.

He turned, blue-grey eyes lighting with recognition. “Hello!” His crooked grin made something inside you ache.

“It’s good to see you here.”

“Well, I’m grateful the museum has these events so the rest of us can get a little culture when we can’t fit it into daylight hours.” 

You felt yourself blushing, pleased that he appreciated something you had designed though he couldn’t have known it was you. You hoped the lighting would hide your reaction. “Thank you for the wine,” you blurted out. “That really was too generous of you.”

“It seemed you could have used it more than me.” His shoulders angled toward you as he honed in, focused on you alone. You felt the whole room quiet as you became the object of his attention. Now you understood how he seemed to carry his own gravity. Just meeting his gaze made it hard to breathe. Something witty might help you from drowning.

“It appears we have similar taste in both wine and art.” You raised your brows and gestured to the large Turner canvas that you stood beside.

He followed your eyes, admired the landscape once again, then smirked at you. “Please, I cannot compete with your sense of taste. Not when you work here.”

So he did know. Your look of surprise spurred him on.

“Word gets around the building,” he shrugged. “And I’ve seen you here.”

You couldn’t fathom that he had always been within such close reach, seeing you across rooms the same way you had seen him, and it had taken you this damn long to say something. Now, when you had less than nothing to offer and no time to enjoy it, of course this was when you started speaking to the most beautiful man you had ever met. “I’ve seen you too,” you gave him a small smile. “You like the night exhibits.”

He continued looking at the landscape, shrugging again. “It’s when I have free time.” Before you could ask him what he did for a living and finally solve the enduring mystery, he continued. “So, are you the curator for the whole museum, or…”

“Nineteenth century Anglo-European art. Still a broad swath.” You nodded around at the wing you stood in, the showcase of your years of meticulous planning, negotiating and staging. An expression of yourself. A small legacy that you hoped others would enjoy even when you were no longer able to.

“Any favorites?” His eyes glinted as he crossed his arms, eager to test you. You knew he understood art, a rare skill among the public. You could already sense what a lovely companion he would make, someone engaging to debate and analyze pieces with.

You were compelled to state the obvious, flicking your eyes back to the painting beside you. “Well, Turner.”

He nodded in agreement. “Of course.”

You began to lead him through the hall, weaving around guests, steering him toward your favorite sections of the wing. You stopped in a corner and nodded at the spread of frames before you.  “Leighton.”

Ben’s brow turned up in consternation and he stuck out his bottom lip in an adorable little frown. “I heard he was a bit of a prick.”

You had never read that in all your years of study but he said it with so much conviction, it made you chuckle. He smiled wryly at your reaction. Oh, he was cheeky.

Continuing your tour you brought him to your most beloved section, a quiet, off-set room that had grown to feel like your second home. You had lost countless hours sitting on its lone bench planning the arrangement and lighting of the pieces within, trying to ensure that visitors felt as transported by the array of rich landscapes and still lifes as you did. 

“And Bridgerton,” you said with reverence, spreading your arms to showcase the dedicated space. “Did you know, we have his entire collection here?”

Something in Ben’s eyes grew incredibly soft, everything about his demeanor warmed. He must have been a fan too, though he wasn’t looking at any of the paintings. He was looking directly at you. “I did know that.”

You smiled, sensing a connection forming, something that may give you a reason to keep speaking to this man who was so clearly out of your league. “He fascinates me the most, I think.”

Ben cocked his head. “Why is that?”

“Because so little is known about him,” you sighed. “It’s rather tragic. He had this beautiful body of work and then when he was still young, he just sort of disappeared. No one knows what happened to him. His family said he went abroad. They published the diary he left behind but it just ends abruptly one day.” 

You slowly walked the perimeter of the room as you narrated, taking in the pieces. They had always felt like a puzzle to you, like the clues to Bridgerton’s disappearance could be found in their layers and hues if you simply looked hard enough, or arranged them in a particular pattern. Of course you hadn’t discovered anything, but the preservation of the work felt vital. Perhaps you had always felt so protective of this collection above all others because it showcased the vibrance of a life that was so suddenly and unceremoniously flung into darkness. You were the custodian of all that was left of the man whose talent you so admired. 

Ben moved with you, one step behind. “You’ve read his diary?”

You nodded. “He seems to have been a very insightful man. Something of a poet too. Very talented. But better at landscapes than self portraits. All we have is a messy little sketch from his diary.”

Ben’s face twisted adorably in befuddlement. If he was allowed to call Leighton a prick, you certainly were going to be honest with your opinions too. Smiling, you guided him over to a piece you had hung in a place of prominence.

“This is my favorite landscape of his, Dreams in Kent. Look at the use of color.” You floated a finger over the lines of the hilly horizon, dotted with points of blues, purples and whites, sprays of wildflowers in the rich, windswept grass.

Ben folded his arms and furrowed his brow, clearly unswayed by your enthusiasm. “Looks like he had a hard time getting the lines right. The perspective is a bit off.”

“I think the skew is intentional. It lends dreaminess.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe the poor bastard just didn’t measure well.”

“You have an eye for details.” Your voice probably came out too breathy but you couldn’t help it. You were marveling at him. He turned and flashed his devastating smirk again. He seemed like the embodiment of everything that was lacking in your life: warmth and good humor, honesty and playfulness. Just looking at him had always made your throat tighten but being this close, getting to know his kind nature and how much you had in common just when it was too late to enjoy, it made you want to scream. Tears began to roll down your cheeks and you turned away, moving to sit on the bench.

“Are you alright?” His voice was full of concern as he sat down beside you. You were grateful there were no other visitors in the room. You hardly felt embarrassed in front of him anymore, not since he saw you blubbering in the lift just the day before. You knew you were safe to confess your problems to him.

“Sorry, it’s…” You fought your shuddering breaths. “This is why I needed the wine.” You laughed weakly, staving off the full hysterics threatening beneath the surface. “I got bad news yesterday. My vision. Exceptional as you can already see.” You gestured to the thick lenses you wore. “I’m losing it.” With a deep inhale, you looked up and scanned the art around you. “I won’t be able to see any of this anymore. I’ll have to leave this job. My life will just…” A solitary sob cut you off. Your face was hot, both with tears and your failing attempts to clamp down your sorrow. “I’m going to fade away. Just like Bridgerton, I suppose. Though I don’t know, we can at least hope he got a happy ending.”

Ben settled a hand on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry. Life can be incredibly cruel.” Coming from anyone else’s lips this would have sounded like an empty platitude, but he left you with no doubt of his sincerity.

“And ironic,” you scoffed, indulging in your anger. “Of all the things to take from someone in the visual arts.”

After a beat, he spoke again. “Do you have any interest in pottery? Something tactile?” You turned and saw his sarcastic grin, which he dropped immediately. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me, I shouldn’t be making fun…”

The laughter rose out of you like a wave of relief. Finding yourself in such a terrible position, it felt impossible not to acknowledge the absurdity of it all. “No,” you shook your head, “thank you, I needed that.” The smile returned and your burden felt a little lighter. You were grateful for the levity. You began wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Look at me, sitting here crying like a fool.”

“You would only be a fool if you didn’t let me have my Patrick Swayze moment and help you with your pottery.” Squeezing your shoulder, he playfully bumped against your side.

“If I recall, he destroyed what she was working on.” You quipped back.

“Oh, you know I have more respect for artwork than that. You could trust me.”

You met his eyes, impossibly earnest and mischievous simultaneously. His hand was heavy on your shoulder, his body nearly pressed against yours. You didn’t know if he was just pitying his poor, strange neighbor or legitimately flirting with you but you embraced it either way. At the very least, perhaps you had found a friend. 

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping low. “If I know anything, it’s that things are almost always a matter of perspective. At a certain point, life can start to seem like a series of losses and nothing more. But those losses thrust us into circumstances where we are forced to discover new things to take their place. There is always something left to hold onto, usually something unexpected.”

You let his words sink in, understanding the magic he seemed to cast upon the museum crowds. If this was how he consoled a neighbor, you couldn’t imagine how insightful he would be when seriously discussing art. You wanted to kiss him, feeling a nearly irresistible pull toward his lips, but held back. Not only was that entirely inappropriate in your workplace but you didn’t want to misinterpret what he was offering you. You didn’t want to ruin the chance for a friendship that might endure through everything that laid ahead. So you smirked, making a joke as a friend would. 

“Perspective, hmm? Maybe you could have taught Bridgerton a thing or two.”

His eyes lit up and he turned back to the landscape with a broad smile. “Perhaps I could have.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @colettebronte @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @mysticwitchcraftco @suspendingtime @faye-tale

[ocho-co]

At OCHO+CO, we use olive trees a lot in Mexico for our projects. They tend to do well with little or no water, indoors or out, both the green and silver leaves, and uplight well at night. This olive bonsai is absolutely gorgeous, especially on the reclaimed bench and custom black door.