Spirit, Dan Pearson.

Merely two years ago, I had no idea who Dan Pearson was nor had I really heard his name. Of course my ignorance has now passed - one would have to try rather hard not to come upon the most respected of garden designers and indeed he reigned champion at the first RHS Chelsea Flower Show I'd visited, his Chatsworth design winning Best Show Garden.

The first book given to me once I had set my heart upon horticulture was his, Spirit. (Delightfully, I've been given many - Mum gave me this one.) It's a fabulous book, filled with memories and adventures and chance meetings. His photographs are so captivating, whether it is they which accompany the text or if it is the text which accompanies them is a distinction left blurred. Each source of interest and influence is touched upon, as boy, student, and man, and the reader is taken from the barge gardens of London to the palatial fountains of the Alhambra. The more one studies this scrapbook of inspiration (there has to be a better word than scrapbook but it escapes me), the deeper one can peek into Dan Pearson's soul. Perhaps because of this, the garden he created at Chelsea did feel familiar - as though seeing a final tapestry, having looked at the threads before it was made. No hierarchy of importance is suggested between the chapters, presumably all influences have touched him at different times or in different ways. However, not being Dan Pearson I definitely have preferred sections. I've read a couple of them to Michelle and thought I'd write down a few quotes here so that I don't forget them.

     Torrechia

"Trees have been kept multi-stemmed in the garden so that they feel wild, and minimising the use of colour has kept the garden feeling pure."
(Violante Visconte, the late owner: "Daniel! This is southern Italy, I want everything to be green. There will be no silver, no colour other than green and white. I want cool colours.")






"Inky bay is used to make the connection to the evergreen oaks beyond the walls and to create dark pools for the bright light to be absorbed into. Magnolias and handkerchief trees throw pools of light into the garden as contrast."

"The plants are massed so that the pacing revolves around a series of events. A ravine of scented crab apples, incandescent with blossom in April, the floor a carpet of violets and hung with fruit in autumn. The garden erupts and shape-shifts between seasons. Blues are allowed to hover in shade like anemone in the woods, flowers are kept simple and single and as close to type as possible. The purity is crucial as a counterpoint to the slightly melancholy mood. These interludes in the seasonality of the garden are intended to be sensual and all consuming and you are encouraged to be lost there for the time they hold your attention. The combination of light and flower or scent or moisture in the air are something that can never be repeated, for each is specific to the way that the components come together at that particular point. It is the garden that puts you in the moment and you savour the brevity in the knowledge that it will never be repeated in quite the same way again.

     Those gardens that use nature for their romantic gain, but strike that delicate balance between it being invited in and not quite having the upper hand are always in balance. It is in this balance that I find the most evocative moments, the points where the magic occurs. I suspect that the ephemeral nature of these interludes is the greater part of their appeal, and for me, trying to capture them is part of the art of garden making."


     Japanese Gardens

"I was taken behind the scenes and allowed to see the gardens at dawn and dusk, when they are at their most peaceful and the light is at its best."
"The introduction to the way of being in the garden was aided by a ritual that you have to go through before you are allowed to enter. We had to sit on the floor in the temple and those who could chanted with the monks, those who could not traced over a prayer with pen and ink. It was only after you have completed the task that you are allowed to enter the garden, and by this time you have been put into quite another frame of mind by being part of the ritual."

"Mr Kubo [designer of Kengo In] recognised the importance of informality, how nature rarely drew a straight line and how the eye preferred asymmetry."
"The approach to the temple is up a wide set of steps that were timeworn and imperfect, overhung with maples and encrusted with moss. Imperfection is important in its place, and age and patina are revered."
"You are invited to move around and through the garden on a series of tiny paths and stepping stones that are configured to slow your movement. By being forced to concentrate on footfall, you are encouraged to take in your surroundings with a new intensity... you might notice that a single camellia flower, crimson against the green of a fallen leaf is left there as contrast. With such evident attention to detail, I was not surprised to discover that it can take up to twenty-five years to qualify as a Japanese gardener."
"[Visiting the garden] You have been part of a journey and consumed in the moment and your senses have been teased very gently so that your antennae are newly receptive to the subtleties of the natural world."