PUBLICATIONS

Issue 48 - Spring 2009

EDITOR'S NOTE

I remember in the 1980s when my little company wasn’t doing well (I didn’t design gardens then), to cheer us up my secretary would tell the story of when her, subsequently well known architect husband, had no work. ‘I opened the fridge door,’ she says, ‘and the only thing in it was half a sausage’ (how long it had been there or which of her 4 children nabbed it I don’t know). I was reminded of this by Helen Rock’s accomplished essay on Julie Moir Messervy, the opening speaker at the GLDA seminar. She too, evidently, had experienced a half-a-sausage moment. One day she sat in her studio thinking ‘well, that’s it, I’ll never design another garden again,’ when a CD arrived from Yo-yo Ma asking her to design a public park with him on the theme of a Bach cello suite. At the seminar she played excerpts from the suite and had us calling out what we heard: spirals, said some, waves, undulations, colours. The immediacy of the response made me realise that, as garden designers, we are visualisers. We make pictures not only from the functional and formulaic, but from feelings and emotions, hence the title of this issue.

Julie Messervy tries to divine the ‘inner landscapes’ of her clients and has categorised landforms according to basic psychological needs: ‘form follows feelings’ is her credo. Another speaker, as you’ll find from Tycho May’s account of the seminar, was Nigel Dunnett, who is equally passionate, a ‘revolutionary’ as he described himself, about bringing beauty and colour to grey urban landscapes through ‘pictorial meadows’. Dunnett would evidently read seed catalogues as a child, imagining the beauties contained within. I have no doubt that his visions were no different in kind from those that inspired the makers of Loughcrew Gardens in Meath. As designers we need these historical reference points, to get the longer term view and to savour the mystery and romance that can only come from gardens that have been loved over time.

The book on Welsh gardens, reviewed on page 13, shows the same desire by modern garden makers to visualise feelings and play to the senses: in a sometimes epic battle against nature - so prolific is the rate of growth in this high rainfall area - art seems to hold a balancing not a dominant hand. For the lovers of treehouses, discussed by David Shortall in his book review, there is no contest. Up high you can become like a bird, and imagine for a moment that you are as one with nature.

In our case study we feature the work of Hugh Ryan, a past Chairman of the GLDA. Hugh is a thoughtful and serious designer who explores the ‘terroir’ and history of his site. In a garden he calls Landfall, he uses his design to link his client’s building to its unique location overlooking the sea in South Dublin. With admirable restraint he enhances what is there without overplaying his hand. In contrast, the site faced by volunteers who went out to Lesotho with the charity Acara, consisted of nothing more than rock and dust. In 14 days they built vegetable beds wrapped round compost heaps, and planted 150 whips. I hope that as those whips grow the people of the orphanage will find a relationship with plants that will soften their harsh world and help to create a sense of home.

For Mark White, who is studying horticulture, a wall covering of deepest terracotta evokes all he loves in Persian and Mediterranean gardens. He kicks off a new column called ‘One of my favourite things is….’ I beg readers to write in with theirs. After all, we need to get in touch with what we love. At the same time, we as the visualisers have to dance to the music of our time: we need to give thought to how we reflect and put form to all the conflicting emotions and sense of confusion and loss that the current economic downturn has created. I look forward to Bloom, I hope it does all these things.

Sheena Vernon MGLDA

Return