Aquascape Artist of the Year: The Story Behind the Trophy That Changed Everything

TL;DR — Why This Matters

We didn't apply. We didn't even know we were being considered. But one unforgettable project changed everything. This is the real story of how we became Artist of the Year — and what it means today.

In 2013, we were named Artist of the Year by Aquascape— the highest honor in the world of water feature artistry.

But we didn't apply. We didn't submit. We didn't even know we were being considered.

A vendor visited one of our builds, had their mind blown, and told someone at Aquascape. That person dug through our portfolio — and what they found spoke for itself.

We had spent years in the trenches: working shoulder to shoulder with the best in the business, showing up at every event, donating time, pouring in blood, sweat, and artistry. And suddenly… the right person saw the right project at the right time.

Then they handed us the award.

I stood on stage in total disbelief. No speech. No prep. Just raw gratitude and shock.

This article tells the real story of how it happened — and what it really takes to win Artist of the Year.

Because this isn't just an award. It's the industry's loudest statement:

"This is what true aquatic art looks like."

If you've never heard of Artist of the Year, there's a reason.

It's not a marketing stunt. It's not a local trophy.
It's a title given by Aquascape — the world leader in water feature technology and naturalistic design — and it only means something to the people who've spent their entire lives working to become one of the world's most renowned aquatic artists.

Each year, after Aquascape's Pondemonium event, they name one Artist of the Year.
Since 2011, there have only been 14 Artists of the Year.

Winning isn't about volume. It's not about applying or campaigning. In fact, most of the time, you don't even know you're being considered.

Consider it the Olympics of water feature artistry.
You can work all day, every day, all year, year after year — training with the best, putting your name in the hat (or trying to get your name put in the hat), doing the work that it takes — only to get up on stage and realize that you're against a dozen other people who have done exactly the same thing and worked just as hard.

Doing all the right things is no guarantee.
It's like getting struck by lightning. It's that hard to win.

Artist of the Year is someone whose work consistently represents all of the proper methodologies and styles to recreate naturalistic water features.

"A good builder can build a water feature that looks nice, that holds water, that functions properly.
Artist of the Year builds a water feature that looks like there was a water feature and someone built their house next to it — instead of someone who built a water feature next to their house."

It's not a job. It's a statement.

If you're wondering whether your artist matters…
If you're wondering whether you should just hire a pond guy…

Ask yourself:
Would you hire a random sculptor? Or would you hire Michelangelo?

That's what this story is about.

There were places where the pond was four feet deep and the boulders sat on the bottom & crested out of the water like monoliths. Every stone, every placement, was intentional. A creator's dream.

We added:

• A wetland filter — Wetland Filter Basics
• A negative edge — featured in this video, filmed at the Seiler Project site
• Fish caves, cantilevered rocks, interaction stones
• Beautiful aquatic plants and full-scope landscaping

You could see it from the basement. From the back porch. From the second floor. And beyond that view? The Tennessee River and the Smoky Mountains.

That's where it happened. A vendor came by one day to talk about materials for another job — and their mind was blown. That was the moment. That's what opened the door to Aquascape. That was the project that earned us Artist of the Year.

There's one more thing I'll never forget.

This was one of the first jobs I remember Tristan helping me on. He was still a young man — still in school — and we were regrading the yard, filling in machine tracks, laying sod where the equipment had torn it all up. He wasn't building the pond yet. But he was there. Helping. Watching.

Today, Tristan is the face of the company. But that project? That was the beginning. And that means more to me than any award ever could.

I was working behind the scenes at Pondemonium when Greg called me up — and handed me the trophy without warning.

Aquascape had called me a few weeks earlier asking if I could come out and help them run their construction department for a short time. They were in between supervisors and needed support while they onboarded their next guy — who turned out to be the legendary Chris H. So I said yes. They subcontracted me in, and I was there helping them out for seven weeks.

That year, instead of attending Pondemonium like I normally would, I was behind the scenes working it. Filling coolers. Helping with logistics. Supporting the team.

I had no idea the award was even being announced that day.

I was in the back when Greg called me up on stage. I figured he just wanted to introduce me — tell everyone thanks for pitching in while they were in transition.

But when I got up there, he grabbed my hand… handed me the trophy… and said:

"Congratulations. You've won Artist of the Year."

I just stood there.

I didn't have a speech. I didn't even have words. I was blindsided. I gave him a hug, shook his hand, and walked off the stage in utter confusion. I had walked right into the punch. It didn't sink in until much later.

At the time, I had no idea how significant it was. I didn't know what kind of role it would play in my life, or what it would open up for the company. But I can tell you exactly what changed.

That was the day the voice in my head finally shut up. The one that said I wasn't good enough. The one that said I didn't belong. The one that said "you're not really that great."

We had the award. We were recognized — not just as good builders, but as the best that year.

And I knew who else had won before me. Guys like Chris Siewing. Guys whose work I admired. I remember going into Chris's backyard and realizing… I'm not as good as I thought I was. His work was on another level.

But that day changed me. It opened my heart and my mind. I started building differently. I started pushing again. And I believe now — years later — that I'm on that same level. I've joined the ranks of the people I once looked up to.

That's what that moment did.

It gave me the permission to stop hiding. To teach. To grow. To keep learning. Because the truth is —

You never arrive. The joy is in the journey. We're all just continuing to evolve.

What made this more than just a good build? Vision. Detail. Integration. Everything about the Seiler project started with a crystal-clear picture in my head of how I wanted the entire pond to lay out — and the commitment to make that vision real.

We had access to a massive 30-ton excavator, and I already knew where I wanted the four- and five-ton stones to go. I didn't just want "big rocks." I wanted specific shapes, heights, and widths. Some stones needed to be large, flat, and thick. Others needed to stand tall like columns. And I spent days getting those choices right.

That kind of intention takes time. But I had it mapped out — the depth layout, jet placements, circulation pattern, and how I'd use the wetland filtration system as the workhorse to make the water crystal clear. Add the negative edge, and the surface tension stayed clean and beautiful. No scum. No bubbles. Just glassy, pristine water — always.

The flow of the feature was seamless. I designed the flagstone path to connect from the lower porch to the interaction stone at the edge of the pond, and I set one massive, thick flagstone right into the pond itself to make it feel like the walkway and water were part of the same sculpture. No borders. No harsh lines.

And because Jerry let me do the landscaping, I was able to blur those lines even more. The edge planting flowed straight out of the waterline. I integrated uplighting on the plants, and now — ten years later — that landscaping is fully grown in, and the nighttime effect is absolutely breathtaking.

I learned that the little things matter more than anything. You can slap together a big water feature fast, and it'll look good. But if you put that extra time into every small detail — where that liner stops, how that boulder angles, what that light hits at night — it all adds up into something unspoken. Something primal. Something that feels like it had to be there.

"That's what great artistry is: when people don't see what you did… they just feel that it's right"

This project proved I could dream something up and build it at the highest level. It taught me that simplicity wins. That big, clean lines and intentional restraint are more powerful than clutter. That less is more.

And yes — this is still one of the best examples of our work.

It's still the one people talk about.

It's still the one that shows the world what true aquatic art looks like.

We earned instant respect — and a little resentment. Winning something big brings out both.

As soon as we won Artist of the Year, the entire Certified Aquascape Contractor (CAC) community recognized us overnight.

People assumed we were one of the best. We didn't have to prove ourselves anymore. We were flooded with messages — newer contractors asking for help, experienced builders asking if our crew could support their overflow jobs or join them on big installs. There was respect.

There was also resentment.

Some guys joked we were just Greg's poster boys. Others implied the award was politics. That's how it is — when you win something big, the reactions come from both ends. But the truth is, we earned it. And Aquascape knew it.

One of our recent Artist of the Year builds was the giant urn fountainscape at Aqualand — the one you see lit up as soon as you drive up. Watch the video here. That feature was built by the artist of the year winners and they put up a plaque there that has all of our names on it.

It comes with a lot of responsibility. You don't just get a trophy — you get a platform. And that platform is meant to help others grow.

Did our relationship with Aquascape change? Not in terms of pricing or special treatment. But we've been loyal to them for decades. They provided the platform that helped us become who we are. They opened the doors, gave us the tools, and we did the work.

We've always operated out of integrity.
They've always operated from education.
That alignment built something lasting.

Do Clients Understand What Artist of the Year Means?

Most don't — and that's okay. We let our work speak louder than the trophy ever could.

Truthfully, clients don't know what Artist of the Year means.

If I tell a prospect we won it, it doesn't seem to register. I might as well quote a line from the dictionary. We don't lead with it. We don't brag. We just do the work.

Maybe that's on us. Maybe we should promote it more. But so far, it's always been more about our content, our portfolio, and our conversations than the title.

In our industry, it's more than a title — it's a trust signal that says you've earned the respect of the best.

In the pond world, the title means something.

We've had tons of builders learn from our YouTube channel. Hundreds of thousands of views on OUR YOUTUBE CHANNEL from contractors trying to get better — watching us break down techniques, installations, mistakes, wins.

We've always lived by one mantra:

"Educate and inspire the world about ponds and water features."

And that's what we do.

Winning Artist of the Year didn't just get us applause — it gave us a microphone. A voice in the industry. A responsibility to share what we know, and lift others with us.

It silenced the voice that said I wasn't good enough — and lit the fire to build something even greater.

The biggest change happened in my head.

I never had much confidence in my art.

That voice in my head always said I wasn't good enough. That I wasn't enough.

Winning Artist of the Year silenced that voice.

It was a major turning point for me — because for the first time, I finally believed that I was enough. That I really had created something worthy of the word "art."

But there was another layer too.

I realized something else:

"Winning an award for artistry doesn't mean you're good at business."

Aquascape gives out a bunch of awards — Artist of the Year, Businessman of the Year, Social Media Influencer, and so on. And it hit me hard:

If I had the discipline to become a world-class artist…

Then I could apply that same discipline to become a world-class entrepreneur.

That realization changed everything.

Tristan and I spent the next decade mastering the business side — learning our numbers, understanding how to price projects profitably, building the systems and structure that would help Modern Design thrive long-term.

Because here's the truth:

You can't deliver level-10 art and charge for a level-5 project.

It doesn't work. Not if you want to survive.

We learned to combine artistry with strategy — and that's what turned Modern Design into what it is today.

Tristan's not just continuing the work — he's evolving it, and shaping the next era of Modern Design.

Today, Tristan has the torch.

He's out in the field creating world-class art every day. And I couldn't be more proud to watch him run with it. Because he's not just doing the work — he's building the future.

That's what Artist of the Year gave us.

Not just a trophy.

But a legacy to grow into — and pass on.

Back then, it meant validation. Today, it means responsibility — to build with excellence, integrity, and longevity.

When I won Artist of the Year in 2013, I didn't really know what it meant.

It was still new — they had only given it out a couple of times — and while I thought it was a cool thing, I had no idea what it would lead to.

For me, it was validation.

It let me know I was good enough.

I didn't feel pressure. I didn't feel confused.

I just felt seen.

Back then, I wasn't good at business. I didn't understand how little most clients would care about something like this. I figured winning Artist of the Year would matter more to people than it actually did. And I didn't know how to talk about it in a way that helped them care.

But the word "artist"? That meant — and still means — something very specific to me.

An artist is someone who builds a water feature that looks like it was plucked off the side of a mountain…
Or something you'd stumble across in the woods and never question if it had always been there.

That's what it meant then.

That's what it still means now.

What I Personally Look For in an Artist of the Year Winner

Artistry matters — but so do business ethics, team culture, and the willingness to lift others up.

I can't speak for everyone, but here's what I personally believe:

If you're going to represent our industry…

Then you better have your shit together.

It's not just about talent.

You've got to run a sustainable business.

You've got to operate with integrity.

You've got to be in it for the long haul.

I'm not voting for someone who's a flash in the pan — someone who built one great pond and thinks they've made it. I want the next Artist of the Year to be someone who lifts the whole industry up.

That means:

• Unreal artistic talent
• Bulletproof business structure
• A commitment to educating others
• A team that believes in the mission
• And the humility to keep learning

Because when you win Artist of the Year, you're not just holding a trophy —

You're holding a microphone.