‘Vacant land does not have scenic quality . . . ‘ : Concrete in the Canyon

I have often said to myself there is probably nothing more beautiful than a $100-million hotel-golf course-housing complex nestled in the mountains.

This is particularly true in the springtime when buildings bloom along the roadsides and steel beams wave gently in a warm breeze.

The reason I mention this today is due in part to an observation by an astute judge of beauty, one Christopher R. Wojciechowski.

You remember old Ski.

He’s the one who wants to build that aforementioned complex on the northern end of Topanga Canyon, an area he describes as “devoid of beauty.”

And why, I hear you ask, is it devoid of beauty? Because the damned thing is vacant.

I have before me a letter Ski wrote to the county’s Department of Regional Planning in which he complains of delays in approving the 257-acre project, known as the Montevideo Country Club.

In that letter, Wojciechowski observes, “Vacant land does not have scenic quality. It is devoid of beauty. It is ugly vacant land.”

Then he goes on to say, and this is an exact quote, “Scenic quality by definition is something beautiful Exhibit ‘C,’ as is Bel Air, or Brentwood or the Palisades will be beautiful when built.”

I realize that the syntax leaves something to be desired, but developers, like fine artists, communicate not with words but with their art.

When Ski wants to say something beautiful, he builds a housing tract. The ultimate form of his art, I am sure, would be to envision and construct a domed NFL Stadium in Yellowstone National Park.

Meanwhile, what Wojciechowski is simply trying to say in his letter is that a $100-million complex by any other name would be as sweet.

He mentions Brentwood and Pacific Palisades because their condos and tightly housed little neighborhoods qualify them as among the loveliest natural wonders in America.

They are often mentioned in journals dedicated to scenic beauty and, in fact, Ansel Adams photographed many of Brentwood’s apartment complexes when he was not busy immortalizing Yosemite.

The only sight more beautiful than Half Dome by twilight would be the Brentwood Arms Adult Security Complex at cocktail time.

Wojciechowski is right.

Vacant hills, with their ugly dips and silly symmetry, have offended me for the 15 years I have lived in Topanga Canyon, and I am grateful that someone is finally doing something about them. Or trying to.

Ski has my support in his Concrete the Canyon campaign.

Unfortunately, however, as soon as his letter was published, several people who live in what is known as the Bowel section of Topanga expressed pointless outrage over Ski’s bold attempt to eliminate ecological blight from the Santa Monica Mountains, namely the ugly environmental emptiness.

One Bowel person, no doubt blurred by drugs and alcohol, challenged Ski’s vision of beauty, attempting to compare ordinary trees and wildflowers to the delicate wonder of, say, a modern, 106-room hotel.

How in the hell can you compare the insignificant existence of a cluster of purple lupine to the functional grace and convenient magnificence of a complex that will include a cocktail lounge, a gas station, a bank, a food store and a laundry?

No contest, Buster.

Picture that cocktail lounge, for instance, with a natural free-form plastic bar, a glittery sprayed ceiling and exquisite pictures of prowling tigers painted on black velvet along the walls.

You want God’s colors? How about one of them little indoor waterfalls flowing over red and blue lights placed strategically at the bottom of a genuine fiberglass pool?

Makes you wanna weep.

That ought to be enough damned beauty to satisfy any critic and certainly enough justification for the 1987 Concrete the Canyon Campaign.

There’s another thing.

By eliminating the open land, Wojciechowski says in his letter, he is performing a public service. To be rid of open space is to be rid of brush. No brush, no brush fire.

Why didn’t someone think of that before?

Ski, however, is not indifferent to the desires of those in the Bowels who protest that his $100-million complex will destroy the flowers.

In addition to tastefully designed artificial birds of paradise in the cocktail lounge (you’d swear they were real), there will be tidy little beds of pansies and ranunculus here and there for passers-by to stop and admire.

And that’s not all. Electronic canaries will chirp in place of ringing telephones. No more harsh bells, but instead a gentle chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp , chirp-chirp . . .

Tell me the man’s not a by God environmentalist.

I’m sure none of this will satisfy those who, for perverted reasons of their own, are determined to stop Wojciechowski from constructing the Montevideo Country Club. No matter. Even if they win, old Ski will just go on to the next beautiful project.

A 97-story office building and sports complex on the vacant beach at Malibu might be nice.