Radical horticulture

Notable by its absence to date from this blog is my fanatical obsession with gardening, given full reign since my move to the middle of nowhere four years ago from Peckham, where I endured a tiny patch dominated by overzealous plum trees and the neighbour's rottweillers.
To be fair, my garden has its own website, that's how big it is - at www.lawsonpark.org.uk - which I try to maintain in the same relaxed way as the garden itself (a duff link = a dandelion in a corner in this analogy).
Anyway, back to the point - I am truly saddened by the death recently of Christopher Lloyd, arguably Britain's most influential gardener of the 20th century. He lived a privileged bachelor life in his folks' place, Great Dixter in Sussex, and dedicated himself and his resources to his colourful, inspired, exprimental garden there. I was lucky enough to visit last summer, and though many of his gleeful planting experiments can't be replicated up my cold mountain, it was an inspiring day, despite the crowds.



I was particularly struck by his 'still lifes' of potted, clashing plants of both refined and mongrel origins, dotted about (see top image) - and reminded of the work of the noted and IMHO much under-rated (move over Grayson, please) ceramicist Richard Slee. Both men share a mischievious and knowing disregard and manipulation of taste and cliche in their oeuvre. From Richard's fabulous website at www.richardslee.com I have borrowed these pics to hopefully prove my point.

With very different artistic vocabularies, both cock a snook at the bourgois sensibilities of the art or garden-lover, who at first glance sees a covetable 'ornament' and (hopefully) at second glance, a complex codefied challenge.



A highlight of any Dixter visit is the house tour, a not because of the artefacts within the impressive and ancient building (as I understand, transported there bit by bit by Christopher's father). Ours was led by the most entertaining guide never to work for a publicly-funded organisation. A Joyce-Grenfell-a-like, willowy, and oddly ageless lady lead the way with the most hilarious and laconic monologue throughout, interspersed with the kind of almost supernatural authority and understatement that English spinsters were once famed and feared for. Whilst facing the opposite way and commentating on a medieval window, her speech would fluidly transform into a brief but severe reprimant to the a naughty 9 yr old who at that very point was leaning on a rare and valuable antique chair behind her. When faced with explaining some particularly wacky contemporary furniture in CL's office, a deep - and deeply disapproving yet oddly warm sigh preceded her "Christopher Lloyd has been shopping AGAIN..."

LLoyd's prolific writing is justly esteemed too, and I particularly enjoyed it when I was writing for a shortlived garden magazine ' The Northern Garden' a few years ago. Pithy and erudite yet always amusing, I particularly enjoyed reading of his ambivalence to the 'paying public' in his garden. Apparently, when on all fours weeding on an open day (his was a high-maintenance garden, low-maintenance according to him being for the 'uninterested') inevitably a visitor would ask the name of a particular plant. Without turning round or looking up his response would be to ask if the enquirer had a pen and paper ready. "But I'll remember it!' the poor visitor would persist "No, you won't, so it's simply a waste of both of our time me telling you!"
My kind of guy.