Seeing garden plants in the wild is always a pleasant, if not eye opening, experience. Familiarity is heartwarming, but one can also learn much from observing the immediate environment in which plants grow before tailoring our gardens to suit them once we return home.
Three of the most commonly seen salvias in Slovakia are Salvia glutinosa (upper left). S. nemorosa (bottom left), and S. verticillata (right). All species are forebears of our garden plants that are now popular in naturalistic gardens.
I spent this past summer in Slovakia, a mountainous country situated in the hearth of Eastern Europe. It is a place of great biodiversity, and I enjoyed admiring the flora and botanizing. Although a wide array of plants is well represented, it is the wild sages (Salvia) that largely impressed me. They are ubiquitous and widespread throughout the country. Owing to their resilience and adaptability in disturbed habitats, salvias have an advantage over other species in the agrarian landscape here.
The first Salvia I encountered was Salvia nemorosa. It is common in central and southern Slovakia, growing in meadows and disturbed areas. Salvia nemorosa seems to love roadsides and a trail of purple often accompanied me on my peregrinations down to Austria or Hungary. Its flowering is a long affair, and even if it had been in bloom for some time since my arrival in early July, the flowers are still going strong as I pen these words at the end of August. The color is consistently a dark magenta-purple in the wild, although considerable variability appears in cultivation. Numerous cultivars have been selected for size and color, ranging from the diminutive blue ‘Marcus, scarcely a foot tall, to the tall pink ‘Amethyst’, towering over 3 feet.
Another cultivar worth mentioning here, but rather rare in North America is ‘Pusztaflamme’, an aberrant mutation with branched spikes of flowers that form a cone-shaped head. One presumes it must have been found in a meadow in Hungary since puszta, (pronounced ‘pussta’), is the Hungarian word for prairie. ‘Pusztaflamme’ is also known as ‘Plumosa’, a name that describes well the chenille-like texture of the flowers.
Salvia nemorosa ‘Caradonna’ still remains one of the best selections as seen here in late May at Chanticleer.
Although any Salvia nemorosa is deserving of a place in the garden, some sort are more dramatic than others. ‘Caradonna’, bred by Beate Zillmer of Zillmer Pflanzen in Uchte, Germany, is perhaps the most famous for its narrow spikes of dark purple flowers on black stems, an intense, but luminous combination.
Another common Salvia in Slovakia is a superb garden plant that I grow with fondness and ease in Canada: Salvia verticillata. This plant seems to prefer ditches, vacant lots and meadows where I saw it bursting with surprising vigor in gravel and even in dense grass. Its hardiness probably comes from its woolly leaves that retain moisture when needed and its long taproot capable of drawing water and minerals from deep down below. I had known Salvia verticillata well as a tough plant, having used it in less than ideal conditions without adverse results. Unlike other salvias, it does not need regular division or replacement, and indeed resents being moved (although recovery will happen within a year). Unsurprisingly vegetative propagation is difficult. Luckily, seeds are plentiful and easy to germinate, including the rare white form that comes true to type. For the rather special (but somewhat gloomy) all-dark cultivar ‘Purple Rain’ (which does not set seeds), basal cuttings in spring is the best option.
Salvia pratensis, commonly known as meadow sage, colonizes open fields and meadows. It has given rise to the hybrid Salvia x sylvestris.
Fairly common in Slovakia too but only in short-grass meadows (including lawns) is Salvia pratensis. Linnaeus clearly observed the species’ habitat preference for pratensis means ‘of meadows’. Although Salvia pratensis comes in a variety of colors in gardens, the ones I saw flowering were all a particularly dark purple color. Flowering was not abundant in late summer because Salvia pratensis is a spring-blooming species. The few I saw flowering already had been mowed down and were on their second flush of flowers (an observation that I will not hesitate to put in practice). Although there was no color variation, the intensity of the color –the shade that my camera unfortunately refuses to capture as it should – impressed me. In the garden, Salvia pratensis does occur in various shades of white, pink, or purple, as well as bicolored. This species is usually propagated from seeds because clumps do not increase fast and therefore yield little divisions, but outstanding cultivars are occasionally propagated vegetatively from basal cuttings or tissue culture. One such example is the outstanding ‘Madeline’, a bicolor blue and white selection from the Dutch nurseryman and designer Piet Oudolf. Oudolf too has introduced a hybrid between Salvia nemorosa and S. pratensis (hybrids are now known as S. x sylvestris), ‘Dear Anja, in honor of his charming and eccentric wife. It is a luminous plant with blue flowers born out of dark magenta calyxes. If I were forced to choose only one salvia, ‘Dear Anja’ would probably be it. Unfortunately It is a difficult plant to propagate and has thus far remained rather elusive.
Salvia pratensis withstands the competition with the grass well.
The last Salvia species I encountered on my walks in Slovakia less common and only in hedgerows and forest edges (sometimes even deep into the forest itself), was the lovely yellow Salvia glutinosa. I was surprised to see it in the shade since it has always grown well in full sunshine in my Canadian garden. Perhaps moisture is a deciding factor since Slovakia only gets half the rain we receive at home. Salvia glutinosa is a beautiful plant and one of my favorite salvias with its large heads of pale yellow flowers and its hastate foliage. It is the European answer to Japan’s Salvia koyamae, which coincidentally prefers partial shade. I look forward to trying Salvia glutinosa on the edge of our woodland, perhaps amongst Aconitum uncinatum or Actaea.
Laura Ekasetya was a week-long guest horticulturist at Chanticleer earlier this year, and I sensed in her an astute and inquisitive mind about plants and gardens. It is infrequent that we hear about the individuals who maintain the work of creative visionaries while keeping it afresh and evolving, and Laura is one of those fortunate souls who oversees the Lurie Garden in Millennium Park, Chicago, Illinois with her team of coworkers and volunteers. Coincidentally her colleague Jennifer Davit, the garden’s Director and Head Horticulturist, was my classmate when I enrolled in the public garden management course at Cornell. She had nothing, but plaudits for Laura’s work in tending the garden.
Connecting art and horticulture: After School Matters student painting in the garden.
Please introduce yourself.
Laura Ekasetya, horticulturist at the Lurie Garden
The arts or the horticulture?
Horticulture and art are intertwined. Even though on a day to day basis I am not designing gardens, I’m maintaining the integrity of Piet Oudolf’s creative work, with plants providing the medium. I’m surrounded by the link between art and gardens every day. The modern wing of the Art Institute of Chicago overlooks the Lurie Garden. The garden’s topography was designed with that wing in mind, even though the expansion of the Art Institute was still in its planning stage at the time of the Lurie Garden installation. On a daily basis I am maintaining living art as a conservator would do, though the effect of time on a planting design is welcome. I recently read a gardening memoir “The Gardener of Versailles: My Life in the World’s Grandest Garden” by Alain Baraton who has managed the over 2,000 acres of grounds including 230 acres of gardens at the Palace of Versailles since 1982. He writes that public horticulture is “an art de vivre–an art of living well and helping people to live well.”
Volunteers planting Echinacea simulata
What does your job involve on a daily basis?
I spend much of my time working outside weeding and editing the planting design. I work with eight terrific hands-on volunteers who help out two days a week, and part-time with an intern. I also give tours and teach workshops as part of the Lurie Garden’s year-round environmental programming. I spend a good deal of time answering visitor questions. I update plant information on our website and record the bloom times of the plants in the garden as well as keep our Facebook page interesting. I assist with maintaining our two beehives. I do my best to record the variety of wildlife in the garden such as insects and migratory birds.
Visitors admire the beautiful planting of Gentiana andrewsii (bottle gentian) in Calamintha nepeta ssp. nepeta (calamint) as the Lurie Garden intern Erin Dumbauld photographs the flower.
Laura carefully consults the detailed color-coded map of the plantings for the bulbs.
How did you become interested in plants and horticulture? What led to your current job at the Lurie Garden in the Millennium Park?
In early grade school my family lived for a few years in Midland, Michigan where I would ask my parents to take me to Dow Gardens, a lovely botanic garden, and the Chippewa Nature Center which has woodland trails to explore as well as a log cabin homestead with a vegetable garden. Seeing pink lady slipper orchids growing in their natural environment was really exciting to me. We moved to a rural area in central Illinois where I enjoyed gardening in the yard, but never realized that there could be career possibilities. I did a lot of farm field work every summer since age 11, so doing labor intensive work outside is something I’m very used to. I came to horticulture as a career choice post college after working a few uninspired years for clinical research trials at a medical school. I volunteered at the Chicago Park District where I learned about a horticulture degree program at a city college. I interned in the city’s forestry department for a year and then came to the Chicago Botanic Garden as a seasonal where I enjoyed working in the research evaluation gardens. After three years I came to the Lurie Garden. This is my 4th year at the garden.
Baptisia alba var. macrophylla looks in scale with the Chicago skyline from this perspective.
Central Park in New York City has an Arcadian landscape idyll envisioned through Frederick Law Olmstead and Calvert Vaux who looked towards the pleasure parks and landscape gardens of Europe for inspiration. These greensward parks have become the imprimatur by which future parks were created. In contrast, the Millennium Park seems futuristic in fusing art, architecture, and landscape design Some people may argue that the ‘smoke and mirrors’ detract from a park’s primary purpose as a place of tranquility and recreation, a green respite from the urban jungle. What are your thoughts about a traditional park versus a contemporary park that deploys entertainment venues and interactive art?
It does seem on the surface that fitting in all these recreational areas with a prominent music venue, a restaurant, and places for displaying art exhibits is a lot to ask of 24.5 acres, but great cities are all about maximizing what can be done with limited land. Much thought went in to planning the park in a way that its various components would work well together. The Lurie Garden is visually connected to the Frank Gehry designed Pritzker Pavilion, but the garden is also separated from the rest of the park by its 12 foot high Shoulder Hedge that surrounds the garden on two sides. When you look out at the garden facing the hedge, you see the skyscrapers towering above the park and then a lovely row of mature maples and then the hedge of Thuja which steps the garden down to human scale. This relative calm of the garden allows the visitor to observe the smaller things happening down at the level of the plants. Various pollinators and other wildlife become noticeable. It’s exciting to see the gleaming architectural work of modern man towering above the natural architecture of the plants which host the drama of insect life. They live among us largely unnoticed, though they were around long before humans, and our bodies will one day be consumed by these smaller lives. Taking in these two opposing worlds gives visitors a chance to step outside the routine drum of office life and experience something that refreshes the senses. It was always in the plan for Millennium Park to have an area specifically set aside for a garden. Eleven different landscape architect firms submitted plans for what was then called the “Monroe Garden.” Fortunately, Kathryn Gustafson (GGN Llc.) teamed up with Piet Oudolf to create the design that became the Lurie Garden. Their work really is what allows this contemporary park to also have a quiet side, though it is every bit as interactive as the other features of Millennium Park.
Exquisite plants and combinations can be admired throughout the Lurie Garden merely a stone’s throw from downtown Chicago: Echinacea pallida in morning fog; Thalictrum ‘Elin’ with Veronicastrum virginicum ‘Fascination’; Allium atropurpureum and Monarda bradburiana; Baptisia ‘Purple Smoke’ with the salvia river in the background.
I visited Millennium Park several years ago during the American Public Garden Association’s annual conference, and was fascinated by the dichotomy between the two art installations Anish Kapoor’s Cloud Gate and Jaume Plensa’s Crown Fountain and the Lurie Garden. It was fun to watch the public interact openly with these public art. Then you enter the Lurie Garden where the reactions were more ‘hushed’ and still enthusiastic about the lush plantings. What has been the public reaction towards the plantings in the Lurie Garden?
Though I wasn’t living in Chicago at the time, I did attend Millennium Park’s opening to the public in 2004. As the Grant Park Orchestra finished its performance for the evening, the Redmoon Theater company marched over Frank Gehry’s BP bridge bearing torches. The crowd from the concert spontaneously followed the parade of dancers to the Cloud Gate sculpture where a fire-themed performance was reflected into the mirrored “bean.” This performance fit well with the way the park encourages the visitors to physically interact with its features. People can go under and through Cloud Gate, even though it is a well regarded work of art. Fountains you are allowed to get into? Now that is an exciting concept. The Crown Fountain is full of families laughing and having a good time all the while literally immersed in fine art. The Lurie Garden has a water feature in the form of a stream that invites the visitors to dip toes in water on a warm day, a perhaps less jubilant activity than what goes on at the Crown Fountain, but one which encourages relaxation and taking in the surroundings peacefully. The way the paths of the garden move through the perennial plantings, you end up brushing against the plants. You really feel like you are in the middle of a meadow. The general visitor response at the time of the opening was a mixed one. The Seam feature has lovely lighting in the evening so that was easily appreciated early on, but to those not familiar with perennial gardens, they may have been underwhelmed at the size of the individual plants. It took about two years for the plants to grow to a size where the non-perennial plant savvy visitor could really “get” the garden’s design intent. Now when visitors see the garden for the first time they are amazed that such a vast expanse of planting exists right in downtown Chicago. The south entrance along the Seam has arborvitae on both sides for 70 feet or so and then opens up to the garden. A few years ago I was working near that part of the hedge when a child entering the garden shouted out, “This is Narnia!” There is a something similar to walking through C.S. Lewis’s wardrobe in entering Lurie Garden. It seems magically larger than its 5 acres somehow, and this is probably a result of the layered planting design having enough balance between complexity and coherence.
Piet Oudolf photographing the Lurie Garden from the Art Institute of Chicago
Piet Oudolf obviously cannot be at the helm of the Lurie Garden physically all the time, and somehow the Lurie Garden has to evolve without losing the Oudolf’s signature touch. Oudolf himself has moved away from the drift-like sweeps of his earlier work at Pensthorpe and RHS Wisley towards looser, less definable matrix planting that mimics nature. Do you and your coworkers see a similar gradual development towards that style?
Piet has stayed involved with the garden since its inception, so yes I would say any change in his own style would have some effect on the garden today. We were fortunate to have him here this July to celebrate the 10 year anniversary of the Lurie Garden and Millennium Park. He suggested a number of small changes to the garden that largely involve adding new plant species and improving on existing plant combinations by adding even more variety to them. Possibly because of the High Line project in NYC where the plantings are more intermingled, some visiting garden design enthusiasts have wondered if we will keep the salvia river (a large drift of four varieties of salvia) as a feature in the garden. The Lurie Garden has a completely different scale than the High Line, which has narrow plantings. The salvia river works well both with the scale of the garden and with its tendency to be viewed from above by the Art Institute, by the surrounding sky scrapers, and even from the part-shade Dark Plate side of the garden which is topographically higher than our full-sun Light Plate. The salvia river is iconic to the Lurie Garden and to Chicago.
Editing is a continual process integral to the Lurie Garden for it referees the dominant plants from overtaking lesser ones and maintains the overall balance. Contrary to what one thinks, a pile of Eryngium yuccifolium awaits composting, not replanting bare-rooted! Although people confess having difficulty keep it alive, this native species does exceedingly well at the Lurie Garden.
Clumps of Pycnanthemum muticum are thinned out and have been donated to Neighborspace Community Gardens. Removing self-sown seedlings is not enough alone since thinning existing clumps must be done to keep the plantings within scale.
There is sometimes a mistaken belief that naturalistic gardens, especially those by Piet Oudolf, are relatively low or no maintenance, needing little human input. How do you cope with self-seeding plants or plants in the original design that failed to thrive?
Because the Lurie Garden is a chemical free garden, all removal of self-seeding plants and other weeds is done by hand. Our team of 8 gardening volunteers have been working with the garden for several years, so they are very knowledgable about the garden. We do thin some seedheads to minimize the number of seeds. Chasmanthium latifolium has beautiful spikelets that also, unfortunately drop a good number of seeds. Thinning the spikelets by half actually allows them more room to rustle in the breeze. Sometimes less is more! We do the same to Anemone hupehensis, Penstemon sp., and Scuttelaria incana. For our Amsonia species, we remove the seeds entirely. Though these pods are attractive in winter, we have other less prolific seeders that provide winter interest, so we can reduce maintenance while still keeping a winter garden. When plants do not perform as well as expected we replace them with something that will. We consult garden magazines and books, Piet Oudolf, and Roy Diblik to select something better. Often Roy will grow the plants for Lurie at Northwind Perennial Farm.
The first snowfall of Winter 2013-14 falls upon the maples still in autumnal foliage.
What are some of the challenges you and your co-workers face in maintaining a large public garden in an urban environment?
Most days, visitors are just happy to have a quiet place amid bustling downtown and are respectful of the garden and the staff. We have round-the-clock security including cameras in Millennium Park so that helps a lot with some of the strange things that are bound to happen in a free public park that is open from 6:00 am to 11:00 pm every day of the year. The park expects 5 million visitors this year. Fortunately, if a well-attended parade or concert dramatically increases foot traffic to the garden, we can temporarily close the garden and then re-open once the crowds have dispersed. Sometimes people try to pick a flower as they walk by, but most of our plants near the edges are really tough prairie plants such as coneflowers that can’t be easily picked. This bends the stems so I have to prune that type of damage in the morning, but really most people just stop and take photos and enjoy the garden in a way that causes no damage. People occasionally step in the beds to have their photo taken. Often they don’t realize that this action can smash the plants and cause soil compaction, and they apologize after that is explained. We do have signs asking visitors to stay on the paths. We have great security that handle this issue well when staff are not around. Our garden is just as photogenic from the paths. We have this really observant security guard, Officer Barlow, who has been with the park since it opened. He is really great at his job and keeps a sharp eye on things.
Insect visitors abound at the Lurie Garden (clockwise beginning left): Bee on Inula magnifica ‘Sonnenstrahl’ backed by Polygonum polymorphum; eastern swallowtail butterfly on Erygnium yuccifolium; great black wasp on Erygnium yuccifolium; dragonfly on Allium ‘Summer Beauty’
Stilted Performance on Allium atropurpureum: A female red-winged blackbird tries to upstage the late spring floral display of the Lurie Garden.
The presence of wildlife in urban areas is always welcome. Have you see noticeable increase of wildlife taking advantage of the Lurie Garden during their migratory journeys?
The garden is just two blocks from Lake Michigan on the Mississippi flyway so migratory birds stop and rest in the Lurie Garden on their journey. We have plenty of insects and seeds for them. Many birders come to the garden during migration season. Since birds generally migrate at night, the morning and lunchtime are great times to see many different species of birds. We are a birding hotspot on Cornell’s Lab of Ornithology citizen science website, ebird (http://ebird.org/ebird/hotspot/L2132400). Insects such as monarch butterflies lay their eggs in the garden, and twelve-spotted skimmer dragonflies are around in summer and migrate with the dragonfly swarms along the Great Lakes in fall.
Two of Laura’s favorite places include the Chicago Botanic Garden’s Lavin Evaluation Garden (left) and Singapore’s Gardens by the Bay kk(right).
What places and gardens inspire you?
The research evaluation gardens at the Chicago Botanic Garden always inspires. There’s a beautiful view of Oehme Van Sweden’s Evening Island garden from the Lavin Sun Evaluation garden. Seeing all different cultivars growing right next to each other is really interesting. Many of the plants are part of Jim Ault’s breeding program, and it’s fun to see what is happening there. I often consult Richard Hawke’s evaluation notes on the CBG website.
Possibility Place Nursery, run by Connor Shaw and his sons, is an adventure. They propagate most of their stock from wild-collected seed, so it’s great to associate with people who have a lot of patience and passion for regionally native plants.
Northwind Perennial Farm in Burlington, WI is inspiring as well as charming.
Gardens by the Bay in Singapore has got to be the world’s most over-the-top horticultural project. Keeping glass houses cool takes more energy than the other way around and yet these two stunning 2.5 acre conservatories are carbon positive! This place is a joyous theme park for plants.
Guest gardening with Chanticleer horticulturist Dan Benarcik and assistant Tom Maczko earlier in spring
I had the opportunity to work as a guest gardener at Chanticleer for a week last May. That was a very inspiring experience for me. The staff there have such thoughtful visions for the areas they manage. I learned a lot from envisioning the different garden areas through the perspective of each person I worked with. The variety of plants at Chanticleer was thrilling.
Geum triflorum shows the apt name of prairie smoke as the pink plume-like seed heads develop. Despite being a North American native, it is still uncommon in American gardens.
The Europeans have always appreciated our Midwest flora that the garden writer Allen Lacy often joked about our plants going aboard for an European education before we American gardeners accept them in our ‘beds’. Only in the last ten or so years have we seen reinvigorated breeding programs in Baptisia, Coreopsis, and Echinacea on our shores. What are some of the North American prairie perennials or woody plants you feel are overlooked or underused? Some may be good candidates for breeding.
Pycnanthemum muticum is such a fantastic pollinator attractant that I can’t imagine having a garden without it. It doesn’t take over as readily as other mountain mints, and its mossy-green color is uncommon. This plant requires a bench in front of it so that the insect variety can be fully appreciated. I also love Euonymus atropurpureus for its color and showy fruit; it looks like a valentine. This shrub could be a good candidate for breeding for compact habit. An underused tree in the landscape is Carya illinoinensis. For areas in need of large shade trees, it really produces prodigious quantities of fantastic pecans (you will need two trees). Though more popular as a crop in the south, the pecans from this Illinois native and its cultivars have a higher oil content and superior flavor.
We are trying out Euphorbia corollata in the garden next spring. I’m really excited to see how this native beauty will fit in with the Light Plate plantings.
What is your desert island plant?
A durian tree. If I’m alone on a desert island there will be no one to complain about the smell.
What is your advice for those seeking a career in public horticulture?
Find mentors in the field, and if you can’t go work for them offer to help them out with something. Learn everything you can from those who have made horticulture their life’s work. I’m fortunate to have a boss who demonstrates amazing leadership and organizational skills. Your career will develop much more quickly if you work hard for people who have ability and are patient and confident enough to share that with others.
Herbaceous perennials are tied back to plant bulbs without damaging the growth. Here volunteer Dan Buonaiuto is planting tulip bulbs for next spring’s show.
What do you look forward the most in the future?
Several years ago at the Chicago Botanic Garden I was planting some evaluation plots with Jim Ault and a group of volunteers. These two older ladies, who turned out to be sisters and in their late 80’s and mid 90’s, were barely holding each other up as they hobbled along the beds. They asked about this nearby plant and Jim told them it was a phlox he bred that he intended to put on the market but that it wouldn’t be available for a few years. They said they looked forward to having it in their gardens. I love the optimism there. Gardeners get a reputation for being grumpy, but really we are the most optimistic people around. That’s what I look forward to, a lifetime of looking forward to the next plant.
The principal genius of the Lurie Garden, conceived by Kathryn Gustafson, Shannon Nichol, Jennifer Guthrie (Gustafson Nichol Guthrie firm), and Piet Oudolf, lies in the ingenuity with which North American prairie plants are mixed with exotics to spectacular effect in an urban environment. A 15 ft tall hedge, a physical manifestation of Carl Sandburg’s “City of Big Shoulders’, gives muscular heft and the maple allees (Acer x freemanii [Autumn Blaze] = ‘Jeffersred’ keeps the scale proportional and intermediate between the skyscrapers and the perennial plantings. Because Chicago’s cold and snowy winters can truncate the winter interest of herbaceous plantings that Piet Oudolf is famous for, the structural stillness of the hedge and maple trees cannot be underestimated and by its virtue of solid mass, the former makes the garden’s loose naturalism more marked during the growing season, and the latter intercepting light at a higher level. Had not the Gustafson Nichol Guthire firm and Oudolf been perceptive to create this framework, the Lurie Garden overall looks lost against the domineering Chicago skyline. Below are two photographs of different plantings taken at different seasons.
One could say that the first photograph of the garden in autumn resembles abstract expressionism since colors – the scarlet ridge of maples, the angular contours of the hedge, the tawny seedheads of Panicum virgatum ‘Shenandoah’, and the fine loose foliage of Amsonia hubrichtii – are sharply demarcated.
1. Amsonia hubrichtii
Restricted to the Ouachita mountains in Arkansas and Oklahoma, Amsonia hubrichtii commemorates the American conchologist (someone who studies molluscs) Leslie Hubricht who found it in 1942. Young plants resemble straggly pine seedlings, but will mature to form billows of fine-textured stems with 3 to 4 feet spread. Like other amsonias, Amsonia hubrichtii produces light cornflower blue flowers in spring. Although some garden writers have derided its widespread availability and potential overuse in landscapes, it still remains somewhat uncommon and should not be overlooked especially for its bright yellow autumn foliage. Full sun and regular soil will be satisfactory and a bit of self-seeding may be observed. The second photograph shows Amsonia hubrichtii in its spring attire (Number 6).
2. Panicum virgatum ‘Shenandoah’
One of the earliest switchgrasses to be introduced to the trade for its reddish foliage, ‘Shenandoah’ is a German selection by Hans Simon who evaluated more than several hundred seedlings of ‘Hanse Herms’. Leaves emerge green in early summer and develop reddish tints in midsummer. ‘Shenandoah’ does not flop and remains remarkably upright throughout the season. The downsides is that the foliage seems more susceptible to rust than the green or blue-leafed cultivars and the roots, aromatic when dug, are irresistible to rodents, especially voles.
3. Thujas (Thuja occidentalis ‘Brabant’, T. occidentalis ‘Nigra’, T. occidentalis ‘Pyramidalis’, and T. occidentalis ‘Wintergreen’, Thuja ‘Spring Grove’)
Different Thuja cultivars fill out the hedging that surrounded the perimeter of the Lurie Garden and diminishes the unsightly effect of winter damage were one variety used. In a heavily trafficked urban environment, the thujas do not suffer from deer depredation and remain evergreen.
4. Acer x freemanii [Autumn Blaze] = ‘Jeffersred’
Freeman maples are hybrids between Acer rubrum and A. saccharinum that combine the best attributes of their parents. The form and brilliant scarlet foliage is inherited from Acer rubrum, with rapid growth and urban adaptability from A. saccharinum. In Manual of Landscape Plants (2009), Michael Dirr noted that Autumn Blaze has ‘rich green leaves with excellent orange-red fall color that persists later than many cultivars, dense oval-rounded head with ascending branch structure and central leader, rapid growth and Zone 5 hardiness, may be more drought tolerant than true Acer rubrum cultivars.” Indeed the scarlet color is a worthy ornamental characteristic of Autumn Blaze. Dirr does express caution over the overuse of Autumn Blaze in commercial landscapes.
By contrast, the second photograph taken in early summer depicts the Lurie Garden painterly in the Impressionist manner – the drifted plantings orient in unusual angles, the colors appearing brushstroke-like, and plants an essence of their selves. Not surprisingly, the Lurie Garden Design Narrative describes this section “bold, warm, dry and bright” and the its topography “a contoured, controlled plane experienced by walking on its surface.” Early summer is a bounteous time for herbaceous perennials which respond well to longer day lengths and consistent warmth.
1. Monarda bradburiana
Monarda cultivars from Europe have largely overshadowed the native species from which they were hybridized, and it’s a shame since the species seem to exhibit better mildew resistance and adaptability. Native to open dry woodlands in Southeast US and northwards to Iowa, the Eastern bee balm has attractive silver-green foliage and creamy pink tubular flowers. The calyces age attractively to a wine hue, an additional seasonal interest after the main floral display has finished. Here in the Lurie Garden, the wine calyces connect visually to the dark globes of Allium atropurpureum. Pollinators are usually drawn to its nectar-rich flowers, giving a strong case to cultivate Monarda bradburiana.
2. Allium atropurpureum
I first saw this allium at Nori and Sandra Pope’s late Hadspen Garden, Somerset, UK where the dark purple florets echoed the purplish-suffused blue foliage of Rosa glauca in the plum border. Used alone, Allium atropurpureum looks lost, receding in the background. However, its dark tone is a good chromatic foil for the purple Salvia river and Baptisia ‘Purple Smoke’. Some accounts have noted the short lifespan of Allium atropurpureum although excellent drainage may be the difference between success and failure. Topping up the bulbs annually will offset any gaps and maintain the display overall.
3. Amsonia ‘Blue Ice’ and Papaver orientale ‘Scarlet O’Hara’
Of unknown parentage (one parent is certainly Amsonia tabermontana), Amsonia ‘Blue Ice’ originated in the stock beds of White Flower Farm several years ago. It is a superb garden plant for its all around good looks – the buds are a winsome dark blue, habit is tidy and manageable, leaves dark green and lustrous (turning yellow in autumn), and pests seldom trouble ‘Blue Ice’.
The bright splash of red orange from Papaver orientale ‘Scarlet O’Hara’ prevents the planting from looking sedate, polite for a lack of better term. In a mixed planting like the Lurie Garden, Oriental poppies can be tricky to integrate because they left gaping holes during summer dormancy and resent crowding when foliage returns in late summer and autumn. In addition, it is easy to plant in the empty spaces vacated by dormant Oriental poppies.
4. Amsonia tabermontana var. salicifolia
Taller (24-36″) than ‘Blue Ice’ (12-15″) and bearing lighter hued flowers, Amsonia tabermontana var. salicifolia was among the first amsonias to be cultivated and still remains a classic for the perennial border. The terminal clusters of light blue flowers appear in spring and become bean-like seed pods in late summer and autumn. Be mindful of its siting since transplanting established amsonias is not a feat for the weak-hearted as their taproots probe long and deep.
5. Baptisia ‘Purple Smoke’
Sometimes the best garden plants are happy accidents and ‘Purple Smoke’ was a chance seedling discovered by the late curator Rob Gardner in the trial beds of Baptisia minor and B. alba at the North Carolina Botanical Garden. Sultry smokiness essentially sums up the appealing trait of this hybrid – the stems emerge an inky gray color rare among herbaceous perennials, the flowers a soft violet the color of evening dusk, and the pea-like foliage unfazed by heat and humidity. Mature plants can reach 50″ tall. In this planting above, the soft violet flowers are a good transitional hue between the salvias and Allium atropurpureum. Young plants do not resemble much and require some time to reach their full potential.
Today’s tip is two-fold. Designing a low hedge can be a complicated affair, the options can be endless making it seem like a daunting task. Take note of different hedges you might come across for future reference, such as the quincunx, which is a pattern of four in the shape of a square with one at the center. If you are still stumped for ideas, look to the windows of churches, mosques or other buildings that you might visit and dissect them for simple shapes which could help lead you on your way to the idea you are looking for. Best of luck and let us know if you have other solutions. – James
I loved reading what you had to say about Orange, your descriptions and images are always so sharp. While you were waxing poetic for the color orange, I was feeling a bit blue having finally left the Netherlands after 3 months of pleasure at DeWiersse. I’m very happy to be back in Madrid, but the change of scenery is always a shock. To compensate missing DeWiersse, I brought a packed suitcase home full of plants for my two tiny terraces. You’d be pleased to know that among my new treasured plants is a Salvia confertiflora, which I fell hard for since my time at Gravetye. I cannot get enough of the deep orange blooms and the brick red calyxes that it possesses, responsible for why it is my favorite Salvia of all time.
Now, I have some free time while I find and nail down some horticulture work here in Madrid. Lucky for me, my open schedule coincides with fashion season, which has happened in NY, London, and Milan and is currently happening in Paris, where it then wraps up until another 6 months from now. Fashion fascinates me, not for reasons expected, as I do not believe in the dictation of trends, the high cost that is associated with the purchase of such creative pieces (though completely justifiable with some), or the exclusivity people feel it expels, but it is the creativity that gets me going. The process fascinates me to no end, from the beginning ideas to the final presentation. These days it’s easy to see the shows online, not only in photos, but in video, which I take great joy in watching. (A secret guilty pleasure…) Clothes aside, the show altogether can be a brief, sometimes intense, form of theater, lasting only a few minutes after many months of preparation. Together with the hair, makeup, set design, the soundtrack and clothes, the shows create such mood and emotion that they provide an instant boost of creativity in me. It invigorates me to see fresh and new color combinations, hear some good new music or even learn of artists who have created installations for a specific show. There are even instances when I learned of other gardens due to the location of a show such as the Chanel Collection 2011-2012 at Cap D’Antibes, Côte d’Azur, France (here). (A beautiful setting and killer music.). It excites me to see so many creative forces come together for the vision of one person or team to get a message across.
It goes deeper still, having to do with the single vision being sparked from something else, an image, a feeling, a mood, or something concrete to which the collection is usually built around, as a point of departure for the inspiration. It could be a work of art, flowers, or dancers from a certain time period, as well as many other subjects chosen from other tangible fields. Hearing designers speak of what sparked the collection is intriguing, with recent examples being Matisse’s stained glass windows in the Chapelle du Rosaire de Vence in the French Riviera (Aquilano Rimondi), or Dries Van Noten designing a collection based on the fluidity of male ballet dancers. Many other creative fields crossover into each for stimulus and motivation but horticulture, specifically gardening, does not do this so much.
My thought is this, if we wish for gardening to be understood and enjoyed by more, should we be interpreting the ways we create gardens by sometimes using these other fields as reference points and inspiration too? Would this give people something more tangible to grab on to so they might feel like they are along for the ride rather than just a voyeur? It does happen in horticulture to a degree, I know of the Toronto Music Garden created by Julie Moir Messervy in collaboration with Yo-Yo Ma with by inspiration by a music score from Bach (here), or the garden based on the Georges Seurat painting, Sunday in the Park, in Columbus, Ohio (here). Florists dip into these pools more often than gardeners, often arranging along the same colors that are in fashion. Roberto Burle Marx the great plants man, was a master at crossing things over from sculpture to music to textiles, as well as garden design. There was a course I once took with landscape architect Darrel Morrison and he had us design garden outlines quickly while listening to different jazz songs, an exercise in design that he swore by. Ceramicists, musicians, dancers et al. often reference other creative fields for motivation and it’s puzzling to see why it doesn’t happen more often in gardening. Do we desperately want to stand on our own so much that we fear any reference will take away some of the spotlight?
creative intersections are everywhere, just look for them
If horticulture ideas were more fluid and leaned into other creative fields more often, would more people understand and enjoy horticulture? This is not to say to borrow direct ideas from fashion, or other fields but the more things link to other artistic genres the easier it is to gain and keep a captive audience, keep it fresh.
Inspiration, a word that’s thrown around so much these days, but no matter who you are, where you are, or what you do, it undeniably finds its way into your life. If we let more of it shape our creativity, horticulture could go in some very interesting directions. It’s fascinating to see creative links with history and know it’s helping to shape the present. I leave you with this, another blend with a beautiful take on clothes, flowers, and music. (Christian Dior- Paris 2012/2013- Haute Couture) That set leaves me without words, and I wonder what you think ….
Farmers’ markets often offer an enticing variety beyond the anemic choice offered at the local supermarket or even big-box convenience stores. The one I like to visit as part of my lazy Sunday ritual has a good mixture of vendors selling baked goods, fruits, vegetables, meats, and seafood. One or two vendors always bring uncommon and rare varieties of fruit that are usually easily bought in Europe. I still haven’t found anyone in US growing those aromatic sweet gariguette strawberries I saw and ate in Paris. However, in the last month or so I was excited to find French melons and plums.
Translated to ‘Little Gray of Rennes’, Cucumis melo ‘Petit Gris De Rennes’ originated in the garden of the Bishop of Rennes nearly four hundred years ago. Its astonishing survival to the present day is unquestionably due to its fantastic brilliant. Amy Goldman writes enthusiastically about ‘Petit Gris De Rennes’ in Melons for the Passionate Grower (2002): “The Petit Gris de Rennes is so good it gives me the chills. As wonderful as Charentais is, Petit goes a baby step further, making it la creme la creme of French melons. You will blink your eyes with disbelief when you sample its sweetness, which is more like brown sugar than white. it will melt on your tongue, and your mouth will water for more.” Her enthusiasm is not unfounded for my friends and I just closed our eyes, incredulous at the intense flavor of its orange flesh. My friend’s father could not stop talking about the melon long after he had a taste. Unless you grow the melon yourself, having one to taste is not easy. One Sunday, Tom Culton of Culton Organics happened to have a stack of mixed melons, one of which was ‘Petit Gris De Rennes’, whose fragrance filled the warm brick quarters of the Headhouse in Society Hill. Seeing them set my heart racing, although $5.00 per melon was expensive at first. Goldman goes on to reveal that in France, the melon is grafted onto squash rootstock for Fusarium resistance and trained against the glasshouse walls to protect the fruits. There is even a syndicate of growers headed by Marie-Thérèse Rescan that sets the standards by which ‘Petit Gris De Rennes’ are grown.
Picking ‘Petit Gris De Rennes’ at its optimal ripeness means paying attention when the speckled gray-green skin loses its indumentum and becomes suffused with mustard. The perfume becomes more pronounced at this stage, and sometimes the fruit will slip off without effort from the vine.
From the Poitou-Charentes region of western France is Charentais whose flesh is equally ambrosial as ‘Petit Gris de Rennes’ and reportedly delicious with prosciutto or simply drizzled with port. The Charentais lacks the distinctive netting of the typical cantaloupes in United States for its rind is smooth and creamy white except for the green ridges that mark the quarters. It is not a large-sized variety since one can easily fit the palm of an adult’s hand, but size is independent of flavor (just like those fraises des bois). Charentais is not as easy as ‘Petit Gris de Rennes’ to grow since the vines are highly susceptible to powdery mildew and the right combination of light, heat, and moisture can influence the taste of the ripening fruit. The fruits do not always slip when they are ripe, therefore the best telltale method is to lift them close to the nose for any perceptible aroma. If the aroma is perfumed and the skin having a light radiant glow, then the fruit is ready for harvesting. It does call for some patience and experience.
Once you sample these French melons, it’s easy to understand why Montaigne said, “Je ne suis excessivement desireux ny de salades, ny de fruits, sauf lesmelons (I am not excessively fond of salads or of fruits, except melons.).”
Melons are not only fruits that the French and other Europeans seem to excel in growing and eating. Plums, essentially small European varieties, do not seem to be popular here in US as they are in Europe where people enjoy them in tarts and liquors. One of the plums I enjoyed eating in Europe and Australia was the mirabelle plum, recognizable by its oval shape about the size of a quail’s egg and dark yellow flecked with orange. The Lorraine region in France is considered the center of world production for mirabelle plums, and the European Union has recognized the mirabelle de Lorraine as a geographically distinctive product. The mirabelle de Lorraine is even accorded its festival complete with foods, a parade, and the coronation of the Mirabelle Queen during August in Metz. I was excited to find them sold at the farmers’ market in Philadelphia and purchased 3 lbs for a tart. The plums had excellent flavor – not cloying sweet like those hyped plucots, but sweet enough with some acid tang. So possessive was I over them that I refused to share them when friends asked for a sample.
In keeping within this week’s parameters of memories, there is a beautiful, even poetic term used in horticulture. Called ‘ghosting’, it refers to the impressions and markings left on the new succulent leaves, specifically agave, which occurs from the foliage being tightly pressed together as it grows, only revealing itself as the leaves unfurl from the plant, and with time eventually disappears. – James
If perennials are steady gatekeepers who modulate conversations and table settings, then annuals are the effervescent guests that bring much gaiety and laughter to the scene. Annuals can be boisterous gatecrashers. The gardener might be forgiven for overlooking annuals during spring and early summer as spring bulbs and perennials like delphiniums, Oriental poppies, and peonies are at their colorful best. However, as soon as midsummer heat sets in, the floral momentum is gone. It is one reason for the one-season wonder in spring when most people purchase plants. “My garden looks great in April and May for two weeks,” my neighbor lamented, “then it looks boring for the rest of the year”.
Glen Withey and Charles Price’ Curator Garden at Dunn Gardens, Seattle, Washington, shows how unrestrained and vivid annuals can be in containers.
Annuals too suffer from unjustifiable bias since dwarf versions churned out like disposable plastics are sold inexpensively at big-box stores. Granted that live plants are better than artificial ones, the big-box stores has done a disservice to their customers who may be oblivious of annuals being more than impatiens and marigolds. While the impatiens downy mildew halted the ubiquity of Impatiens walleriana hybrids across North America, I secretly rejoiced at the prospect of people broadening their use of other interesting annuals. Impatiens are not to be discounted and as a a child, I loved their Crayola crayon colors in people’s gardens. And touching the popping seed capsules was just pure fun.
Late summer is a good time to take good stock of the persistent performers and flagging ones. To be fair, the time may be not kind for those annuals that have lost steam in spring or early summer. However, when the garden is tottering on the verge of exhaustion, relinquishing what energy it can muster for the late season perennials and tropicals, any sight of color from annuals is welcome.
The following three are indispensable and foolhardy in any good garden conditions.
Cosmos bipinnatus ‘Versailles Tetra’, Verbena rigida, and Zinnia ‘Golden Dawn’ at Cutting Garden, West Dean, UK
Cosmos bipinnatus
There is something amiss if a late summer garden is missing annual cosmos. Cheerful and chic, Cosmos bipinnatus is easy from seed, and shoots upward into a tower of lacy foliage that soon covers itself nonstop with colorful daisy-like flowers. Then the flowering stems stretch out web-like, weaving themselves among other plants. I find that topping up with later sown seedlings in midsummer prolongs the display when the earlier plants begin to wear out, mildewed and exhausted from their floral marathon. Unless the plants are destined for the cut-flower market, deadheading can be an ever-ending task.
Christopher Lloyd gripes about the failure of Cosmos bipinnatus to flower during long summer days since seed is produced in Kenya where twelve-hour nights are the norm rather than the long day lengths of northern climes. Either the breeders have since meticulously eliminated the plant’s day length sensitivity or our hotter summers than those in UK encourage faster growth and better flowering, but I have not encountered problems with my seed-grown plants. ‘Purity’ is unsurpassed for its clear white color and floriferousness, although frequent deadheading is needed to keep it tidy and free of those unsightly browned flowers, a fate common for white flowers. ‘Seashells’ has petals fluted like its namesake. ‘Versailles Tetra’ has rich intense pink flowers on black stems. I like ‘Rubenza’ for its dark, rich red-rose color verging on garnet.
A field of Cosmos bipinnatus in full flower
Nicotianas
Nicotianas are cottage garden mainstays. Nothing can beat Nicotiana sylvestris for its stature, shooting star-like flowers, and evening fragrance. It reliably self-sows as a reminder that its presence can cool the heat that drives us inside air conditioned dwellings. The fat rosettes resemble cabbages, giving a bold anchor for mixed plantings. Some people use it in white gardens with white cosmos, moonflowers, and white heliotrope, although I like it better as a chromatic cleanser among bright colors. Nicotiana mutabilis and Nicotiana langsdorfsii are excellent if you desire an ethereal look since both species have smaller flowers hovering in hundreds. They are see-thru plants that blur the discrete groupings of plants in large borders and happily self-seed (even if their progeny may not be true to type) the following year. Nicotiana ‘Limelight’ is less generous in self-seeding, but it is worth the trouble of starting anew each year from seed. There are very few annuals (I can only think of Moluccella laevis and Zinnia ‘Envy’) that possess the chartreuse hue, and ‘Limelight’ really does shine in the garden, jolting and soothing simultaneously our overstimulated senses from all the colors.
Nicotiana ‘Limelight’ is an unusual shade of green seen in annuals – delicious with blue salvias or red dahlias.
Rudbeckia hirta
I was surprised that the largely perennial Rudbeckia had a few annual representatives, and the once ubiquitous Rudbeckia fulgida var. sullivantii ‘Goldstrum’ soldiering in fast food chain and hell strip gardens reinforced my prejudice. Rudbeckia hirta inhabits mostly prairies, pastures, and woodland edges from southern Canada into Florida, westwards to New Mexico. Flowers span at least 2-3 inches wide, and may be yellow, yellow marked with dark brown, or entirely maroon. The bristly leaves deter hungry insects, but not butterflies who depend on them for larval food. Given the resurgence of interest in North American prairie plants, it is not surprising to see Rudbeckia hirta earmarked for breeding work. Suddenly various cultivars begin to appear in catalogs and cut flower devotees were using them in farm-to-table bouquets. Then I saw Rudbeckia hirta ‘Kelvedon Star’ in summer bedding at Great Dixter. ‘Cherry Brandy’ is a dog among the cultivars – its color is terribly muddled and vigor among the seedlings seems variable even from reputable seed sources. ‘Denver Daisy’, a selection from Denver Botanic Garden, is a robust grower profuse with its irregularly marooned spotted yellow flowers. It is almost too vigorous to a default that neighboring plants may be overwhelmed. ‘Irish Eyes’ and ‘Prairie Sun’ have a softer, wilder look different from the stiffness of ‘Denver Daisy’. Their luminous yellows pair well with the blues and purples of autumnal aconitums and asters.
Rudbeckia hirta ‘Irish Eyes’ has a soft green center.Rudbeckia hirta ‘Prairie Sun’
John and I were introduced through a mutual acquaintance when I was living in Australia. Funnily enough I first saw his work exhibited at the RHS London Flower Show a few years ago prior to our meeting. We bonded over our love of the arts and plants, and even caught up during his trips to United States. John has exhibited widely throughout Australia and internationally, including New York and Pittsburgh, Kew and London and Berlin and Madrid and has received numerous awards for botanical art including the American Society of Botanical Art Dianne Bouchier Award for Excellence in 2013. It’s no easy feat to fulfill these artistic obligations while holding down a daytime full-time job in Melbourne, Australia!
A close-up study of a Nymphaea flower and its bud.
Please introduce yourself.
John Pastoriza-Piñol, botanical illustrator
The arts or horticulture?
Both, can’t decide.
How did you parlay your scientific background into a career as a botanical illustrator?
When my interest in plants and gardening led to study botany at Uni, I was given the opportunity to travel to the University of Vigo in Galicia, Spain to complete my doctorate course. I studied the environmental impact of Eucalyptus globulus subsp. globulus in agroecosystems in northwest Spain. This tree, the Tasmanian Blue Gum, is native to Australia and been naturalized widely, including to Galicia. When I returned to Australia, I began studying botanical illustration with the renowned Jenny Phillips and haven’t looked back since.
Botanical illustration is a scientific discipline that portrays accurately the minute details of the plants. For clarity and simplicity, the plants are set against stark negative space, leaving little room to improvise. I can only think of Marianne North and Raymond Booth whose work went to incorporate the subject’s habitats and Robert Thorton who took stylistic liberties to convey a romantic mood in the Temple of Flora. How do you surf between scientific precision and your personal creative touch?
The centuries-old art form of botanical illustration is highly specialised – where plant portraits combine finely observed detail with artistic expression. Today, botanical art is experiencing a resurgence of interest, and artists are adopting more contemporary interpretations, pushing the boundaries. Rich luminous hues and gorgeously exotic and rare botanical specimens define my work, however these are more than mere flower paintings. Closer inspection unearths a certain ambiguity of form and intent towards a dark and complex narrative. The familiarity and pleasure we derive from looking at a depiction of a beautiful plant or flower is somewhat challenged, and I like to urge viewers to look beyond the aesthetic and move into slightly more uneasy territory. While I want to encourage an appreciation for contemporary botanical art and accurate realism, I tend to aim for an exploratory narrative in my choice and composition of subject matter – the unusual and macabre always fascinate me.
Black hellebores tends to John’s taste for the unusual and macabre.
Given your full-time daytime job as a college administrator, how do you set aside blocks of time to devote to painting?
I have been teaching intermediate/advanced classes at the Geelong Botanic Gardens since 2005 and I have expanded my teaching circuit to include interstate and international Master Classes, educating my unique approach to the art form. In addition, I have a “day job” at RMIT, a university of technology and design, as coordinator industry Engagement and Events for the college of business, which allows me to use the other hemisphere of my brain! This leaves me with little time to devote to painting but I manage to fit it in.
How do you cajole the horticulturists into giving you the rare plants to paint? It’s hard to part with a rare or unusual plant one has devoted to propagating and growing.
My primarily focus is rare and unusual plants. Re-introducing less commonplace plants and unusual species certainly engages the audience. I find if you ask nicely and you most often you get the whole plant not just the bloom! Most plantsmen are very proud to have their treasure immortalised as a piece of fine art.
John captures beautifully the translucent texture of the Kiaat seed (Pterocarpus angolensis) as well as its spiky seed pod.
Watercolor is the primary medium through which plants are depicted in botanical illustration. There is no doubting its ability to impart a special translucence or ‘liveliness’ to plants. Have you explored other media besides watercolor?
Not as yet, I would love to work with glass, maybe in my retirement.
What are your current projects you’re working on?
I am in the process of finalising a new series of works to be exhibited at a show titled (Vignettes: Prefatory, Empirical, Mimesis, Brevity) in 2015 at the Art Gallery of Ballarat. The Art Gallery of Ballarat was established in 1884 and is the oldest and largest gallery in regional Australia.
The exhibition is based on the concept of a vignette, which originally was used to describe a small decorative design or small illustration used on the title page of a book or at the beginning or end of a chapter. These small, pleasing pictures or views would have no definite line at the border and often the design would be a small, graceful literary sketch.
My component, titled Brevity, is based on the French proverb à la Chandeleur, l’hiver se passe ou prend vigueur (winter either wanes or gains strength). This part of the exhibition precariously balances several disparate components of botanical documentation and constructed social identity. The literal and subversive elements coexist uneasily on the same plane, while the rendering remains true to the fundamental principle of objective observation of the natural world.
The obvious harbingers of autumn invoke feelings of reflection, melancholy of the transience of life. The careful choice in thickness of each vellum skin is pivotal to the overall narrative, where the thinner clearer skins denote youthfulness and the thicker skins represent growing older and the aging of the body. The underlying tattoos which emerge from beneath the vellum are instantly recognisable to those familiar with members of certain subcultures. These strangers are identifiable by these visible markers and exercise our curiosity in discovering their ‘story’ – often the justification behind the tattoos.
The entire work is presented as a timeline or chapters from a book starting at late summer to late autumn. The fidelity of the underlying tattoo diminishes as if discarding of the troubles of daily life and suffering of the world. The familiarity and pleasure we derive from looking at a depiction of these images are somewhat challenged. Does the tattoo destroy the beauty of the work or do we learn appreciate its symbolism? They suggestively urge the viewer to look beyond the aesthetic and move into a deeper understanding about the reality of life, the choices we make and in the scars we take to the end.
A peony is depicted in its demure, but voluptuous form.
What has been the public reaction towards your work in various exhibitions?
Botanical art has been described as the meeting place between the arts and the sciences; however, many contemporary art practitioners describe the genre as ‘pure documentation devoid of any social context’ and therefore not considered as an art form. Contrary to critique, we are witnessing an increasing interest in botanic art with artists and illustrators continuing the centuries-old tradition of accurately and artistically recording plants.
Surprisingly there is a resurgence of realism in contemporary art practice which has inspired many prominent artists to adopt more contemporary interpretations and therefore pushing the boundaries of this art form into mainstream. More established galleries are showing interest in displaying this art, and subsequently there are more opportunities to study and appreciate botanic art.
My works are designed to engage with the audience on an intimate level. In terms of the subject matter, the viewer’s experience is highly subjective and personal as they stimulates curiosity and allows the viewer to more engaged with each work/ group of works and can interpret in their own way bringing into focus the everyday.
What are some of your favorite influences (travel, fashion, etc)?
I do follow fashion and travel often yet these don’t exclusively influence my work.
You spend an inordinate amount of time teaching botanical illustration nationally and internationally. What are the challenges you face in explaining some of the techniques in botanical illustration?
Obviously with the medium of watercolour, patience and time are common challenges. Accuracy is vital, as the smallest exclusion of an integral plant structure may result in an incorrect identification. One of the downsides to this art form is that we are very critical on detail. If a work is not as detailed or as accurate, most viewers are shy to praise and quick to criticise. You must be thick skinned to deal with critique. The flower is always the first component to be completed as nature waits for no man and is always the first part to change/ deteriorate first. The foliage and bulbs/ root structure can take time as these do change too much.
John likes to use pomegranates in his botanical illustration lessons for these fruit have such mystical and cultural qualities.
You seem to favor the pomegranate as a favorite subject for pupils to paint. Why is this fruit a chosen one?
Punica granatum L., pomegranate, is an ancient, mystical, unique fruit borne on a small, long-living tree which is native to the region of Persia and the western Himalayan range, and is now cultivated throughout the Mediterranean region and elsewhere. Pomegranates are considered an emblem of fertility and fecundity, and have a strong affiliation to women. The pomegranate features prominently in myth and religion as a symbol of the seasons of death and rebirth.
If you were marooned on an island, what would be your desert island plant to paint or grow?
I hope that never happens! Most of the plants I like wouldn’t grow there!
Do you have any favorite gardens?
Sissinghurst, Kent UK; Cloudehill, Melbourne; the private garden of plantsman Otto Fauser.
A detailed painting of Camellia flowers, leaves, twigs, and fruit.
Any advice for anyone interested in exploring botanical illustration as a career?
I have been a member of ASBA since 2005/2006. The ASBA is the benchmark on which all botanical societies should be based. The running of the society, and the cohesion of both chapters and international artists is extremely well managed. The annual conference is truly a highlight, bringing together artists from around the US and abroad. It is wonderful to be able to present your work on an international platform. ASBA is at this stage the most global society of artists, that is until the creation of the International Society of Botanical Artists!
John Pastoriza-Pinõl is presented the 2013 ASBA Diane Bouchier Artist Award by the American Society of Botanical Artists (image courtesy of American Society of Botanical Artists at https://www.asba-art.org/about-asba/awards)
Engrossed in the activities of summer gardening, there are many things I notice as I look around, stake those plants, collect seed from that plant, water the glasshouse, water the pots, deadhead, harvest seed from that plant, drink some water, move those plants… Happy to be so busy, but not so happy when I finally do get to collect those seeds, only to see that the plant has already dispersed them, a missed opportunity. As I get older as a gardener, experience has taught me some tricks, and no longer miss the opportunity of collecting seed for next years plants. In Germany, I have seen fine netting placed to catch seed that might otherwise get lost in the wind, one approach. As a student at Great Dixter, we used to collect seed before it was ready, placing them on the windowsills to dry and ripen to save for the following year. Often, Poppies are removed from the border before the seed heads open and I place them on a tray or in a bag, which when left for a week or two, will catch all the spilling seed, which are then labeled in a container. Small plates are all over the windowsill now, filled with hollyhock, digitalis and verbascum seed, ripening for next year. No more missed opportunities for the next generation. – James
Plinth et al. 
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