Cooke - Disobedient gardens: landscapes of contrast & contradiction

Tulbaghia violacea (society garlic) and Sedum Autumn Joy barely contain the tumble of grasses on the entry terrace at the approach to the front door. The blackened, spent flower stem of Xanthorrhoea glauca pierces the mist behind a timber sculpture by Jamie Sargeant.

C OMMON THREADS

W hen I look back at images of the gardens Ive designed, I look for similarities common threads that bind them. Certainly, some plants and colour combinations are repeated, and I also clearly admire the aged, weathered finishes that only time and patience can achieve, as this is also something often seen in my designs. Yet the thing that strikes me most vividly is the contrast between wild and manicured plants. This reoccurs in all my gardens to varying degrees, depending on both the season and the owners inclinations.

Since I was young Ive romanticised about saving lost gardens gardens once loved and adored; now abandoned, overgrown and untethered. And its to this thinking that I attribute my predilection for wildness combined with a degree of order where, with some hard work and love, control can be restored and a garden saved from neglect. (I know this sounds somewhat like the plot from a garden romance novel.)

Gardens grow and gardens evolve in the same way as relationships to begin with its usually superficial; all first impressions and appearance. However, over time, if a garden is nurtured it matures and develops character, personality and depth. A great garden has layers of interest like the interior of a loved and thoughtfully decorated home filled with Persian carpets, echoes of music, wonderful books lining the shelves, tiny watercolours, old oil paintings or scribbled sketches in mismatched frames collected over a lifetime of travelling.

One of my mantras is good gardens last. I dont allow current fashion to dictate my taste too much and my favourite designs are those that I return to in different seasons, year after year. I consider these very special gardens, and they have taken on the individual style of their owners and become ever more complex and interesting as stories unfold and lives are lived out within them.

Theres a great understanding and an easiness that grows between a garden owner and myself when we get to know one another and have relaxed. Trust and understanding blossom and its then that we can create something unique together. After the sweat and frustration of designing and constructing the garden is done, weve shared stories, coffee and cake, bowls of soup, meals and bottles of wine. Now the real fun begins the garden has a life.

In my favourite gardens Ive been given second chances to add, improve or change and I regard these gardens almost as my own. Some of the garden owners are a little more reserved while others are happy to give me free rein, more or less. As a garden develops, so too do the opportunities to make it intensely individual. As it grows and ages so does its personality and it takes on the style of the owner it gets its own voice. And if I succeed as a designer of gardens, then the lives of my clients are ultimately enriched in the process. Good gardens take time and love; knowledge and dedication make gardens grow.

I like garden contradictions and contrasts sun and shade, messy and neat, organised and considered peppered with a little spontaneity. I dont like home interiors or gardens that are considered done and remain unaltered. Who wants things to stay the same? Gardens are ever changing, always growing and looking better with age or, at least, they should be. I dont have a plant I like more than any other. I love too many. And I like my gardens to have a disparity, an air of restrained wildness about them. You could call it a bit of disobedience which shows inner spirit.

The owners my clients and friends have become an important part of my life. The things I learn from them enrich my personal experience and also, inevitably, the way I design for others.

u u u

I like my gardens
to have a disparity, an
air of restrained wildness
about them. You could call
it a bit of disobedience
which shows inner spirit.

Ive heard it said that a near-death experience can be life changing, and so it was with me. I had ridden horses competitively for thirty years. In the autumn of 2012, I was riding close to home at a friends place on one of my young horses, a big moving horse bred ultimately for either dressage or showjumping it was too early in the geldings education to tell. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the legs went from under him and he fell sideways to the ground with me still in the saddle.

My head hit the ground first and I was immediately knocked unconscious. With my fists clenched, still holding the reins, and the bit in the horses mouth, he struggled to right himself and find his legs, thrashing about on top of me, grinding me further into the sandy arena surface. And when he finally got upright he landed a rear hoof to the back of my head, which tore at my riding helmet.