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More Is More Is More: Today’s Maximalist Interiors

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Pattern: Exotic Butterfly in Black, by Josef Frank. Available through Schumacher

Introduction

© Carl Dellatore, September 27th, 2022. Rizzoli New York

What defines maximalism? In the design world, opinions vary greatly. There is one faction that says a level of excess is pivotal. Some suggest that unexpected, often shocking color (or color combinations) should take center stage. Still others believe a mix of patterns to be de rigueur. The list goes on.

As most views about design are ultimately subjective, they are all correct. But no matter its form, maximalism has been with us as long as the decorative arts.

At the turn of the twentieth century, the Breakers, Richard Morris Hunt’s dichotomous seventy-room “cottage” designed for the Vanderbilt family and decorated by the team of Jules Allard and Sons and Ogden Codman Jr., defined Gilded Age maximalism through the use of architectural elements. No expense was spared toward cementing an aura of supreme wealth and status: lavish marbles from Italy, exotic woods and chromatic tiles from far-flung locales, and a stupendous mantel from a French château shipped at great expense for the Breakers library.

Fast-forward to the 1960s and ’70s, when Manhattan society lauded Robert Denning and Vincent Fourcade’s supremely layered rooms focused on opulent furnishings, with every surface adorned: high-gloss lacquered walls, silk damask settees, neo-baroque curtains, delicately pleated custom lampshades, and dyed-to-match passementerie. Their work was described by Architectural Digest’s Mitchell Owens as “magnificent excess” for clients as varied as Henry Kissinger and Oscar de la Renta.

And then there is the present-day decorator Kelly Wearstler’s twenty-first-century maximalism—an interpretation of old Hollywood glamour, conjured not through excess but with grand-scaled patterns, inventive silhouettes, audacious color, and her reverence for all things naturalistic, seeing Mother Nature as the ultimate source of inspiration. 

There is one quality all these incarnations of maximalist design have in common: There must be an element of surprise. Maximalist interiors always create a certain frisson, a sense of amazement, a gleeful jolt for the visitor. When you enter a maximalist room, the question remains, How did the designer ever think of that? To achieve surprise, creativity is a necessity.

Creativity in the decorative arts is expressed in the ability to think outside the oft-clichéd box—to be imaginative, to celebrate curiosity, and to come up with original ideas. It’s the creation of spaces that eclipse the predictable. The ways you’ll find designers expressing their creativity in this book fall into five categories, or chapters: color, elements, pattern, layering, and surfaces.

You’ll find an otherwise austere Manhattan entryway lacquered floor to ceiling in several shades of apple green. There’s a dizzying array of patterns in a Victorian bedroom unified by botanical motifs. You’ll find a carpet woven in an oversize, pixelated garden scene gracing a dining room floor. There’s a visually kinetic black-and-white folding screen in a Palm Springs bedroom. And there are rooms with often discordant objects, layered to perfection through a designer’s vision.

While I’m on the subject of designer vision, it’s important to note that while maximalist interiors often appear busy at first glance, there’s always a wealth of knowledge and experience that serve as the underpinnings in visually demonstrative spaces. Designers know there is a difference between curated and cluttered rooms. 

For example, interior designers understand the subtle ways to link the objects in a room to form a narrative, telling a story as the eye lands on each element and then moves to the next. An understanding of color theory is key, as when pairing complementary hues—burnished terra-cotta balanced by just the right shade of teal. And of course, there’s the interplay of silhouettes, with a feminine, curvaceous chair juxtaposed against the ridged angles of a Jean-Michel Frank sofa. 

Maximalism as a design movement is very much in vogue. Perhaps it’s our twenty-first-century wish to feel bright and celebratory; perhaps it’s the antidote to decades of midcentury-inflected minimalism; or perhaps it’s the influence of social media platforms, specifically Instagram.

As a lifelong student of design, I’m always curious to learn the “why” behind the choices made in crafting maximalist interiors. That brings me to the final component of this book: insight from the designers. I’ve interviewed the designers for each image in this book, writing the captions in close consultation with them to share their process for achieving the marvelously alchemical success of each space. Through their words, you will see each room and gain insight into their aesthetic vision. From these words and images, you will be able to channel their knowledge as thrilling inspiration for the decoration of your own home. As imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, please borrow some ideas from this book. I know I intend to!

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More Is More Is More: Color

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Pattern: Dawnridge in Peacock, by Cristina Buckley. Available through Schumacher

COLOR ~ From the book More Is More Is More: Today’s Maximalist Interiors

© Carl Dellatore, September 27th, 2022. Rizzoli New York

Lush color is the key to maximalism, as is a willingness to split with established color theory. And don’t forget to add in an unbridled dose of creativity. Along with pattern and silhouette, color makes up the triad of the foundational elements in maximalist design. One might argue that color is the most important of the three.

Historically speaking, there are countless design luminaries who understood and employed a rich, maximalist approach to color in their work. Perhaps the best example is high-society designer Dorothy Draper and her landmark decoration of the Greenbrier hotel in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia. Her brazen use of green, juxtaposed against red, reinvented a color combination that was once relegated to the end-of-year holiday season. And let’s not forget the boisterous mix of shades she conjured for each of the Greenbrier’s bedroom suites: yellow curtains against pink ceilings against red upholstery against teal-striped walls, plus riotous floral bedspreads for good measure! 

And it’s impossible not to remember Billy Baldwin’s decoration of legendary fashion editor Diana Vreeland’s living room, affectionately dubbed the “garden in hell.” Published in Architectural Digest in the September/October 1975 issue, the crimson-clad salon, with its floral chintz–lined walls and matching curtains, most certainly set a few dinner-party conversations ablaze with its unabashed flair. 

Other notable rooms with a maximalist approach to color include Albert Hadley’s legendary brass-lined oxblood library for Brooke Astor with its iconic La Portugaise chintz upholstery; Virginia-born tastemaker Nancy Lancaster’s drawing room on London’s Avery Row, with its walls sheathed in her famous “buttah-yellah” shade of yellow paint and festooned with corn-silk curtains; and Mark Hampton’s brownish black–walled library for Sue and Haydn Cutler, in Fort Worth, Texas, set off in sharp contrast by crisp white furniture and a neutral sisal rug. Even today, these rooms look bold and eye-catching. It’s obvious why they’ve earned a place in the annals of color-referenced design history. 

Interior Design by LA-based Kevin Isbell ~ Photography by Annie Schlechter

Today, as a culture we’ve pivoted to the eye-popping, kaleidoscopic, color-rich spaces that define contemporary maximalism. This all invites the question, How do I incorporate maximalist color in my home?

Esteemed interior designer Robert Couturier once told me, “I think the basics about color are like grammar: You need to learn it; you need to absorb it. And then you need to forget it. Taking risks with choosing color is key.”

Taking risks, indeed. As you turn the pages to enjoy the many glorious rooms included in this chapter, you will see designers pushing the limits with color, such as a living room inventively striped in vertical bands of progressive hues, drawing your eye around the space, or a room lacquered in a rich marine blue set off by a mix of eggplant-purple and lime-green furniture. Taking risks with assertive color creates one-of-a-kind spaces that catch the eye and delight the visitor. 

How do you know if you’ve landed on the best color, or color combination? I respectfully defer to the aforementioned Dorothy Draper, who famously said, “If it looks right, it is right!”

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More Is More Is More: Elements

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Pattern: Idris Embroidery in Navy and Multi. Available through Schumacher

ELEMENTS ~ From the book More Is More Is More: Today’s Maximalist Interiors

© Carl Dellatore, September 27th, 2022. Rizzoli New York

There are times when a maximalist interior is defined by a singular element, challenging the typical maximalist convention of a densely populated room that combines a myriad of finishes and furnishings. In these unique spaces, paradoxically speaking, less can be maximalist too. On the other hand, there are rooms where a single design element is used multiple times—either densely populated in one area or scattered throughout—adding visual interest and maximalist flair. However a potent element is utilized, it can carry a space, becoming a focal point that punctuates a room in a superlative way. 

As a rule of thumb, using an element or elements in a maximalist manner can be successfully achieved in three primary ways: through the manipulation of scale; through the singularity of an element; and, in the case of collections, through repetition.

On the subject of scale, I’m reminded of what legendary designer Juan Montoya wrote on the subject in my book Interior Design Master Class: “Create a focal point from the best pieces you can muster. Dare to be imposing. Even a small room may take on majesty if one orchestrates, sparingly, significant pieces within it: large in size, superb in style, and high in quality.”

Interior Design by Alexander Doherty ~ Photography by Marius Chira/Instagram @marius.dof

Several rooms in this chapter exemplify the ideas Montoya puts forth. One in particular is the wood-paneled entryway of a stately Tudor-style home, spare and rather austere, with an immense sculptural foot by the Italian artist Gaetano Pesce centered on an unadorned floor. Another features a piece of functional sculpture in the form of a monumental door—commissioned by the designers—set off by uniquely faceted walls. In both cases, exaggerated scale telegraphs an arresting more-is-more feeling. But when going for grand gestures, there is one caveat: dynamic pieces benefit from negative space around them, so that they can be fully appreciated.

With regard to singularity, an element in a room might stand out for its rarity or the way it’s been positioned in relation to other elements, allowing it to take center stage. An illustration you’ll find in this chapter is an antique mirrored tester bed positioned on a grand-scaled stenciled floor and surrounded by serene pink walls. 

Perhaps the idea most easily employed in maximalist interior design is the repetition of an element. Designers return again and again to this idea as a way to turn up the volume in a room. One fine example in this chapter is the ceiling of an elegant Dallas living room, which is covered in crisp, white-painted decorative plaster blocks. And there are several glorious rooms with a collection of artworks hung gallery-style that collectively command attention. 

Whatever the approach, one thing is paramount: choosing the elements of a maximalist space should be an enjoyable process. Pick elements that you respond to emotionally, elements that you will be happy to live with. Joy is a precious commodity, so by all means have it in abundance at home.

More Is More Is More: Pattern

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Pattern: Japura Forest in Green. Available through Schumacher

PATTERN ~ From the book More Is More Is More: Today’s Maximalist Interiors

© Carl Dellatore, September 27th, 2022. Rizzoli New York

In my former career as a textile designer, pattern was an omnipresent concern. Creating a design element and then engineering it to echo across the width and length of fabric was challenging yet very enjoyable work. And while stripes have always been a personal fascination, there’s a vast, ever-expanding trove of patterns for designers to utilize in maximalist rooms.

The patterns in use today have their origins in many cultures, with motifs originating from East to West. There are time-honored Persian paisleys, both traditional and contemporary interpretations; adaptations of ancient Roman herringbones in every color of the rainbow; ginghams, which are thought to be of Malaysian origin, from the Malay word genggang; tree-of-life designs born from Indian bedcovers and tent panels called palampores; and bountiful florals traced back to China and subsequently reinvented by Europeans. 

As dizzying as the breadth of patterns that exist is, there is an equally vast number of ways in which interior designers can deploy them. A grand-scaled William Morris design from the mid-nineteenth-century founder of the Arts and Crafts movement might be papered around the perimeter of a library, creating a kinetic rhythm. An awning stripe fashioned into tasteful curtains hung from lacquered white rods can serve to impose order on the landscape just outside the window. And speaking of outside, an English floral chintz, covering a range of upholstery silhouettes, transports the visitor to the gardens of a historic Essex manor house in the languishing days of a British summer.

Interior Design by Harry Heissmann ~ Photography by Kris Tamburello

Then there’s the artful juxtaposition of patterns, giving maximalist designers an opportunity to mix and match to create a range of effects. A decadent salon sheathed in an electrifying mix can feel like a 1990s Christian Lacroix haute couture runway show, providing the backdrop for invigorating conversation. Alternately, a demure bedroom with patterns that reveal a graceful mix of motifs encourages a sense of serenity just before slumber. There’s always something that creates a connection—either overtly or in a nuanced way.

Repetition of color is one tried-and-true option for mixing patterns in successful maximalist rooms. For example, a chevron-patterned rug woven in brown and white would pair perfectly with a Moorish-motif wallpaper similarly inflected with brown and accented by powder blue and silver. Repeating motifs works just as well: a delicate Indian lotus print on a tablecloth trimmed with a deep bullion fringe would mix perfectly with a blossoming peony fabric on a collection of throw pillows. The mix could be further unified by a rose-covered Aubusson underfoot, resulting in a verdant botanical flair.

Utilizing geographical references is also an excellent way to link patterns. Think wallpaper populated with chinoiserie pagodas set against a bamboo trellis upholstered on a pair of club chairs, then paired with a stylized chrysanthemum-covered folding screen. To take this idea a step further, a designer might choose a variety of locales by combining a Francophile toile, a Portuguese azulejo, and a Florentine vine, tracing a path around Europe.

With the vast knowledge the designers in this book possess on the history of the decorative arts—coupled with their curiosity and intuition—it’s no surprise that the rooms in this chapter brim with the creative use of pattern. As they would likely all agree, using patterns successfully comes down to what appeals to us personally. To quote the legendary decorator Billy Baldwin, “Be faithful to your own taste, because nothing you really like is ever out of style.”

More Is More Is More: Layering

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Kashgar Velvet Ikat in Ruby & Plum. Available through Schumacher

Layering ~ From the book More Is More Is More: Today’s Maximalist Interiors

© Carl Dellatore, September 27th, 2022. Rizzoli New York

As the title of this book suggests, “more is more” is the ethos of maximalism, and layering is the best implement in a designer’s toolbox to achieve maximalist flair. Color, finishes, materials, furnishings, and organic elements create rooms that have a larger maximalist impact than the sum of their parts. Think of it like a musical composition: each instrumental layer adds to the richness of a piece. When violins, cellos, clarinets, drums, flutes, oboes, saxophones, and French horns combine, they build toward an exhilarating crescendo as exciting as the rooms in this chapter. 

But there is one important clarification: not every layered room can be considered maximalist. For example, rooms conceived around neutral color schemes with nuanced textures and quiet, luxurious furnishings may be rich in supremely sophisticated layers and yet not over the top in any way. 

While not every layered room is maximalist, nearly every maximalist room is layered. In fact, the more richly layered a space, the more maximalist it becomes. The rooms in this book explode with such enthusiasm, exuberantly telegraphing the creativity of the designers behind each space. 

Collected interiors reveal themselves in stages and over time as the eye establishes relationships between parts of an interior. These include the finishes in a room, like wallpaper, paint, wood, stone, textiles, and passementerie. 

Then textures begin to appear as more complex layers reveal themselves: the coarse grain of rough-hewn walnut used in a shiplap wall treatment, the sheen of the highly polished marble top on a brass-framed coffee table, the chunky comfort of lush chenille upholstered onto a headboard. 

Interior Design by Brockschmidt & Coleman. Photography by Simon Watson / Trunk Archive

As the eye travels around a room, we perceive elements in slightly larger groups: the massed decorative pillows positioned on upholstered pieces astride patterned rugs, or lacquered walls punctuated by luxurious window treatments and a handsome, geometric hand-stenciled floor.

Plants add another layer—either singularly, like the large-scale rich green leaves of a fiddlehead fig tree, or in concert with one another, like a pair of Boston ferns on pedestals near a spiky Christmas cactus in full riotous bloom. 

Collections play a key role in maximizing rooms. A dozen tall Murano glass vases in differing hues would command attention on a center hall table, but their impact is enhanced even more by an assortment of Moroccan marquetry boxes interspersed with antique candlesticks. 

Books are a valuable component of any layered room; they imbue a space with a certain sense of knowledge while revealing the interests of the home’s inhabitants. When grouped with other personal mementos, such as generations of family snapshots in silver picture frames or seashells gathered from an annual sojourn to a much-loved beach, a family’s history is revealed on the shelves. 

Ask any of the designers represented in these pages, and they’ll surely tell you that when a maximalist room is layered correctly, it feels effortless—despite the skill it took to create—with each finish, material, furnishing, and object in equilibrium. It’s the secret sauce of decorating. Like the pieces of an elaborate jigsaw puzzle, a maximalist room comes into focus when every piece, every loop and socket, is connected and in its place.

More Is More Is More: Surfaces

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Pattern: Shanghai in Cinnabar. Available through Schumacher

SURFACES ~ From the book More Is More Is More: Today’s Maximalist Interiors

© Carl Dellatore, September 27th, 2022. Rizzoli New York

No book about maximalist interior design would be complete without mention of Tony Duquette, one of the genre’s most celebrated practitioners, who combined fantasy, theatricality, and audacity in equal measure. His aesthetic steeped in global references, Duquette conjured rooms that appear otherworldly, with every surface embellished in wonderfully imaginative ways: Styrofoam fruit crates attached to a ceiling and painted, trompe l’oeil malachite in rich verdant green sheathing the walls, and black-and-white checkerboard floors overlaid haphazardly with gloriously patterned rugs. 

Like Duquette, contemporary interior designers know that the majority of rooms are created with a cube or rectangle as their framework. And these rooms have six surfaces: four walls, the floor, and the ceiling. Combined, those six planes create an envelope within which designers can realize endless maximalist ideas.

Because of the number of square feet involved, the four walls of a room provide designers with the biggest way to pack a maximalist punch—both by utilizing standard finishes like wallpaper and paint and by envisioning one-of-a-kind surfaces created by artisans. A good example is walls conceived with bold, graphic patterns or a mix of patterns, or walls that juxtapose a matte finish against lacquer, allowing the light to change as it moves from surface to surface. An adventurous designer might create walls that stand in stark contrast to a room’s furnishings—perhaps a stylized floral wallpaper set off by a clean-lined Parsons table. These are just a few ways to decorate vertical planes to enhance a maximalist space. You’ll find many more striking and unusual wall treatments in the pages of this chapter.

Interior Design by Ken Fulk. Photography by Douglas Friedman / Trunk Archive

The floor is the fifth surface in a room, and it has one intrinsic requirement: it must be durable. No matter the material or finish, the floor must withstand the punishment of daily traffic, children, and pets. The good news? Maximalist patterned floors, like a geometric carpet or an intricately tiled mosaic, hide a multitude of sins. In the case of the latter, stone often looks better as it ages; the same could be said for wood floors. Patinated surfaces imbue a room with a sense of history and grace. 

Turning to the sixth surface in every room, the ceiling, the legendary twentieth-century decorator Albert Hadley once said, “Ceilings must always be considered. They are the most neglected surface in a room.” Contemporary maximalist designers would surely agree with Hadley. High-gloss lacquered or mirrored ceilings reflect light and add drama; wallpapered ceilings draw the eye up and can be everything from restful to kinetic. For the adventurous designer, the sky’s the limit—pun intended—when it comes to decorating the ceiling.

 Finally, a note of caution: not every surface should be over the top. On the contrary, maximalist rooms benefit when they strike a balance, with some surfaces receding and others taking center stage. A juxtaposition of pattern, color, and texture, in the words of Diana Vreeland, allows the eye to travel.

Garden Design Master Class

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Introduction

© Carl Dellatore, April 14, 2020. Rizzoli New York

More than two millennia ago, Roman statesman, orator, lawyer and philosopher Marcus Tullius Cicero purportedly said, “If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.” For me, these words still ring true today. 

From the ancient Orto Botanico de Padova in Northern Italy, which featured medicinal plants, to Piet Oudolf’s elevated railway garden on the High Line in New York City, the idea of cultivating plants has fascinated nearly every society since the birth of agriculture during the Neolithic Revolution.

At the same time, the spread of printed literature—from the Library of Alexandria in Egypt to Oxford University’s vast Bodleian Library to the gloriously restored Rose Reading Room in New York’s main public library—has given us a treasure trove of books about gardens and garden design. 

When I set out to learn about the finest books on garden design, I asked James Braydon Hall, the president of the Garden Conservancy, to share some of his favorites. The first writer he cited, Thomas Jefferson, may surprise some readers who know Jefferson primarily as a Founding Father and U.S. president. But as Hall points out, Jefferson was a “scientist, statesman, explorer, and gardener.” His Garden and Farm Books (c. 1802) provide a glimpse of early nineteenth-century American gardening and farming while also showcasing Jefferson’s view that horticulture could play a key role in shaping the new nation and its inhabitants. 

Fast-forward a century, Hall told me, and delve into novelist Edith Wharton’s vision of grand American gardens as heirs to the European aristocratic gardening tradition. In Italian Villas and their Gardens (1904), Wharton helped to shape a Gilded Age vision of American upper-class life—in Hall’s words, presenting gardens “as visible symbols of power and as enormous symbolic canvases upon which to play out the rituals of their milieu.”

In our own time, Michael Pollan captures the spirit of the post-modern approach to gardening in his Second Nature: A Gardener’s Education (2003). As Hall says, Pollan “brilliantly takes on the self-conscious fashion for gardening among post-urban intellectuals,” which often takes the form of a search for personal, rather than cultural meaning. 

Many of the designers whose ideas are captured in this book have also found inspiration in books by master gardeners. In our conversations and in their essays, several names appeared again and again—including Beth Chatto, Russell Page, and Christopher Lloyd. It’s well worth spending some time with these luminaries of twentieth-century garden design, whose influence is still apparent today in gardens around the world. 

Chatto, the subject of a recent biography by Catherine Horwood and the author of numerous books, was a pioneer of environmentally friendly gardening techniques, emphasizing the importance of choosing plants not only for their visual appeal but also for their suitability to the local conditions. She urged gardeners to look at the whole plant, not just its flowers, and to observe it throughout the seasons, while remaining committed to the garden’s overall beauty and order. 

The legendary gardener Russell Page also drew inspiration from the surrounding landscape and chose plants for their natural compatibility with the setting, while embracing an unabashedly formal design aesthetic. In his only book, The Education of a Gardener (1962, reissued by New York Review Books in 2007), Page described his early inspirations as well as the design process for some of his most famous commissions from the first half of the twentieth century, including estates in Europe, the Middle East, and the Americas. 

Christopher Lloyd, author of 20 books and numerous articles about gardening, has long been viewed as an “artist” who transcended the traditional education he received as a horticulture student and at his parents’ English manor house to create original and unexpected designs. His gardens at Great Dixter, his family home, are world renowned, and his many books have left their mark on countless gardeners over the past half-century. 

Through the evocative writing of the master gardeners who have contributed to this volume, new generations of designers and enthusiasts can draw aesthetic and practical inspiration. Amidst the bustle of our twenty-first-century world, Cicero’s two prerequisites for a fulfilling life—the garden and the library—resonate more than ever. It is my hope that this book can join these others on the shelves of devoted gardeners everywhere, bringing fresh insights from the many contributors who have shared their visions in these pages.

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Garden Design Master Class

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Garden design: Margaret Brower Photo credit: Daniel Sager

Afterword

© Carl Dellatore, April 14, 2020. Rizzoli New York

Thinking back to my earliest memory of a garden, I’m transported to the 1960’s in rural Pennsylvania, my maternal grandmother’s house in the last days of April, and Hyacinthus orientalis – the common hyacinth – in shades of purple, pink, and white. 

While a novice by the standard of garden designers featured in this book, Mom-Mom had a true green thumb. Her front yard was tiny: some grass, and a strip of garden abutting the house that was the anticipated harbinger of spring, signaling the time to jettison heavy coats and snow shovels. When the hyacinths she planted broke ground and bloomed, you could smell them from the front porch of my family’s house next door; in fact, they were the signal my mother used to have the storm windows removed and replaced with summer screens. 

Mom-Mom’s backyard was a small plot of land that might have been a grass covered respite to sit in a folding chair and have an iced tea. But for my grandmother, it was her pride and joy: the vegetable garden.  

Farthest back some 15 feet from the house were several rows of corn and sunflowers that obscured the view of her neighbor’s garage. Moving toward the house, a dozen or so beefsteak tomato plants were planted in a chevron pattern with conical cages to support the eventual weight of their fruit. Moving toward the back door in orderly rows were red beets, string beans, cucumbers, radishes, cabbages, carrots, peas, kohlrabi, pumpkins, and bib lettuce. Several varieties of coleus plants were interspersed for color, cuttings of which would be brought indoors to ‘root’ in repurposed jelly jars on the kitchen window sill. They would eventually be replanted in yard the following spring. A real circle of life. 

As the family living next door, we were the welcome recipients of Mom Mom’s summer bounty from late June though the first frost. There was rarely a meal without something from her garden. 

It wasn’t until the 1990’s until I found the pleasures of gardening that my grandmother knew so well, when I purchased a modest house built in 1822 on a dozen acres in Churchtown, New York. It had originally been a poultry farm owned by one Homer Anderson (the original map of the house, with his name inscribed on it, came with the deed). 

The place was in disrepair, which was part of the allure of the property: I love a project. Rotted and paint-bare, most of the clapboards needed replacing. The septic system failed. The plumbing needed professional attention. The outdated kitchen and bath desperately needed an update. Every wavy float glass window needed re-glazing; the entire house needed rewiring. You get the picture. 

Outside there was evidence of a once thriving garden, but the previous homeowner explained he had paid little attention to it in the dozen years he owned the house. Hundreds of Siberian iris came up in May, but were crowded by poison ivy, wild black caps, and chickweed. Several dozen mature lilacs were leggy with few if any flowers. Hydrangeas that didn’t bloom, periwinkle mixed with dandelion, and a stone wall barely visible through the thicket. 

Like most novice gardeners, I rolled up my sleeves every Saturday morning that first spring and set about what I thought was an ordered list of tasks required to bring the garden back to glory. But not having done adequate homework, I made mistakes. 

That poison ivy I mentioned? I had a perennial (pun intended) case. I planted several dozen variegated Hosta in full sun; they withered to craft-paper brown by July. On the hill behind the house, I decided there should be Baltic ivy as ground cover. My partner and I spent an entire weekend clearing the brush, augmenting the soil, and planting 2000 (!) rooted cuttings purchased by mail order. Imagine our surprise when pulling up to the house the following Friday afternoon to find a deer and her fawn grazing on what turned out to be the last morsels of a week-long, all-you-can-eat buffet. 

Eventually I came to the conclusion I needed a garden designer.  

On the advice of a neighbor I hired Philippe, a French expat who lived a few miles away. We spent 2 hours together every Saturday morning during the spring and summer season of the second year discussing the topography, the existing plants, a ‘rescue’ plan for the parts of the garden I liked, and ideas for new plantings. We made trips to Ward’s Nursery in Great Barrington, where Philippe shared his expertise in choosing the perennials and annuals best suited to the Catskill mountains. 

By the end of my 4th year, with untold hours of enjoyable sweat equity, I had my garden. In fact, with Philippe’s tutelage I’d built a formidable stone staircase, one riser and tread every weekend over the course of 2 summers, which led to the plateau where we put the pool and pool house.  

Now I don’t own that house anymore, but when I think back to my naivete in planning its garden, I wonder what it might have been like to have the advice of the finest garden designers in the world to guide me. How do you integrate architecture and garden? How important are scale and proportion? What if I want my garden to have a Japanese sensibility? What are the differences between a formal and an informal garden? I love roses, but how do I choose a variety? 

That’s part of the reason I decided to do this book, so that when I buy my next house, I’ll have it in one hand, and a pruning shears in the other.  

That, and to remember my grandmother. 

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