The past informs the future
Tony Milne from Rough Milne Mitchell reflects on the return of Scandinavian minimalism and architectural simplicity in landscape design.
Near the turn of the century, I recall designing groves of lancewoods with sand coprosma underneath. Minimal and simple. The lancewood skinny and upright, distinct in both its juvenile and mature form, robust, interesting, liked and disliked. The sand coprosma, scrambling, sprawling and hummocky with its interlacing branches forming big, ugly cushions. At the time I thought I was clever, innovative and aspirational.
Since then, or at least I tell myself this, the lancewood seems to have become ‘automatiquement’. The sand coprosma, not so. For most, not overly endearing, a plant not on everyone’s palette. I have managed to slip a couple into our garden. The design controller, who is a glossy, shiny green leaf type, seems oblivious.
As well as minimal and simple, there appears to be a renewed enthusiasm for Victorian plants, seemingly explained by the popularity of Bridgerton on Netflix. The power of Jonathan Bailey – every gardener’s, or simply everyone’s muse! Then there is what some are calling a ‘Garden of Eden’ approach to landscape design. Beguiling space that is ‘teeming with life and activity’. Imagine Jonathan in such a setting, alluring and coquettish, I suspect.
This Labour Weekend past, with friends, we took a road trip to Te Anau and then Milford Sound. Rebecca suggested I drive. Apparently, she feels safer when this happens. Perplexing, she also suggests I should pay more attention to the road. Shakey Hooper rode up front, a man of carefully selected words. Shakey and his wife Carmel have created their own wonderful Garden of Eden.
From cheese rolls and the happiness of sheep to slabs of blackwood, the conversation was varied. Quite effusive Shakey became when we drove past vast swathes of Chionochloa rubra (red tussock). Reddish-brown foliage waving at us in the breeze, happy in the moist plains, hollows and seeps this tussock had colonised.
Discaria toumatou (Matagouri, tu¯matakuru), or wild Irishman as it is often called, conspicuous on the exposed scarps and river terraces, also drew comment. Admiring its ability to fix nitrogen and withstand everything the southern climes could batter it with, Shakey’s effusion became ebullition. Especially when I mentioned I’d used it as a hedge once.
Conversation turned to the satisfaction we have in our use of these plants, and others seen growing naturally within the landscape we were passing. Essentially nurturing nature in one’s own backyard. As we look to personalise our outdoor spaces, perhaps it’s time for the wild Irishman. Equally at home as architectural simplicity, Scandanavian minimalism, within a Garden of Eden or as a backdrop to Jonathan.
As I advance the cause for our thorny one, the following whakataukı¯ from our recent NZILA conference seems apt. ‘Kia whakato¯muri te haere whakamua’ - walking backwards into the future with eyes fixed on the past. This speaks to Ma¯ori perspectives of time, where the past, the present and the future are viewed as intertwined.
Looking to the past to inform the future.
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