‘I grew into the valley – or was it the valley that grew into me?’
When art historian Alasdair Forbes left London to sow the seeds of a 30-acre garden in Devon, he had something more in mind than planting a few flowers. He has just written a book chronicling its creation, and discusses his work with Tim Richardson
All those who are interested in innovative or original gardens will have been intrigued in recent years by the growing reputation of an ambitious designed landscape in mid-Devon – if they had even heard of it, that is, since this is a garden which has been very much “off the radar”. Created since 1992 by a solitary owner, accompanied by a single part-time gardener, Plaz Metaxu is the singular and highly articulated vision of art historian Alasdair Forbes, whose conception might be placed in the art-garden tradition of the late Ian Hamilton Finlay (maker of Little Sparta in Scotland).
Forbes’s vision is of an alternative world – a green and watery capsule, defined by the valley’s edges, peopled by the spirits of Greek gods and the places they dwell in, expressed as a series of metaphorical episodes. (Forbes prefers “metaphorical” to “symbolic”, which he sees as too constrictive.)
The associative qualities of the garden mean that it owes something to the 18th-century tradition of landscapes such as Stourhead, with their temples and statues. But there are no such grand accoutrements at this garden, which is determinedly modern and understated in its execution.
Here, semi-abstract sculptures, hedged enclosures and inscribed plinths instead imbue the place with a sense of dynamism, urgency and meaning.
A stream runs its length, passing through a man-made lake at the garden’s centre. At the edges of the lake are hedged enclosures named for gods, goddesses and sacred places, while a white figure incised into the turf on the southern valley slope both represents Pan and makes reference to musical notation. There are other meaningful sculptures set in or beside the lake, while immediately behind the farmhouse is an immaculate gravelled and cobbled courtyard area named “Distress Retort”, with specimen trees and sculpture, which owes something to the Japanese zen garden tradition. Adjacent is a small walled garden with a far more traditional feel – it is here, in the garden’s most sheltered spot, that Forbes can indulge his interest in flowers.
Horticulture does not loom large in the “official” narrative of the garden, but Forbes’s abiding interest in art extends not only to matters of visual composition (the French painter Poussin proving to be a major influence) but also a painterly interest in the effects of foliage colour, especially, on the atmosphere of glades, hedged enclosures and other episodes (see box).
A thread of ambiguity or fruitful uncertainty runs through the garden. As Forbes observes, the name he has invented for it translates as, “the place that is between”. Throughout the landscape’s episodes he plays with ideas of nuance and hybridity, allowing nothing to resolve completely. One of the garden’s presiding deities, for example, is Hermes, who operates between heaven and earth, as does Pan (another key figure), while there are several references to Orpheus and his travels into the underworld. Even the name of the property, when Forbes bought it, was uncertain. “When I came it was known both as Combe House and Combe Farm,” he recalls.
So why Devon? “I wasn’t only looking here,” he says. “I looked everywhere from west Dorset to Shropshire. But in this part of mid-Devon, which is not the most sought-after part of the county because it is neither on the coast nor on the moor, it was possible to find plenty of upgraded farmhouses with about 30 acres. For some reason I knew I wanted to make a garden. I had been thinking about it for about 20 years [while living in London]
Forbes’s vision is of an alternative world peopled by the spirits of Greek gods
but I didn’t have any preconceptions as to what it would be like. I wasn’t looking for a valley, specifically – just enough land to make a sizeable garden. But I grew into the valley – or perhaps the valley grew into me.”
That last comment is typical of Forbes’s attitude to his demesne. He sees any interaction with the garden as a dialogue, or even as a relationship, and does not anticipate that visitors will wander around it simply marvelling as dislocated observers. Instead he hopes that somehow they will feel such empathy for the place that they will become subsumed into the garden’s disparate spaces, to be moved “or even transformed” by the experience.
“I am saying that the lake, for example, does not invite us simply to look at it, but that it invites us to be like itself,” he states.
If that sounds like an abstruse concept, or at least rather ambitious, then that perception is well-founded. This is not a garden that has been created for thoughtless wandering; it is, rather, a meditative experience where every square metre has been carefully considered and sculpted. Each stone, tree, hedge and vista is freighted with meaning. Some may find it all rather precious or overwrought, while others – like me, following several visits over the years – will treasure the memory.
For those who respond sympathetically to Forbes’s approach, the Plaz Metaxu landscape is “precious” only in the most positive sense, because it is such a startlingly original, well-executed concept. In any case, the garden is not intended to be difficult, despite its inherent complexity and intensity. Forbes is, in fact, somebody who laughs easily; he speaks of the “openheartedness” in the midst of the garden, adding: “I don’t want difficulty or paradox or refractoriness. I wanted to find a wavelength which accommodates.” Of course, the creation of such a spectacle has entailed practical challenges. Some of them appeared monumental to its urban intellectual owner, fresh from London, unused to the chill winds and freezing rain of a mid-Devon valley. “Some of my relatives thought I was mad, coming here,” Forbes admits. “I was a city boy and at times I was frightened by the power of nature – it was exhilarating and intimidating at the same time.”
He recalls the first time the canal overflowed its banks and water came across the lawn towards the house, or the way he used to have to wear two pairs of gloves outdoors, and the occasion when he overturned the ride-on mower. But then his Man Friday appeared. Cyril Harris, a local farm labourer, was initially recommended as an odd-job man, but Forbes quickly discovered that he could turn his hand to anything and, in fact, had a flair for garden-making in the Forbes manner.
“Thank goodness for Cyril,” he says. “He was the reassuring influence who made me realise what could be done. And he knew everyone locally who could do things. He has educated me in the ways of the land.”
The pair formed a working partnership which still endures, a quarter of a century on, with Harris regularly appearing for two days each week.
Forbes says that while his gardener is fully supportive of this unusual garden and his own highly particular specifications, Harris was nevertheless “flabbergasted” recently to find a visitor in floods of tears, so moved had she been by the place.
“He was deeply impressed because he had not realised a garden could have this affect,” Forbes observes, perhaps with a hint of satisfaction.
Despite its growing fame, Plaz Metaxu has remained tantalisingly out of reach for most people, as it remains a private domain and is open to the public only sporadically.
Small groups sometimes come for visits – on which occasions Harris’s wife appears, to dispense cakes and tea – but the garden has not been “open to the public” in any real way.
Yet Forbes does wish to share his creation. “You don’t make something like this just for yourself,” he says. “Making it for yourself is a very important part if it, but of course you do want to share it.”
To this end he has produced a book which constitutes the ideal introduction and companion to a garden that is emerging as highly significant in an international context. It is copiously filled with Forbes’s own evocative photographs, while the text is a deeply argued, scholarly tour de force, replete with references to philosophy, painting, poetry and psychology. As such it stands as an admirable riposte and corrective to all those from other disciplines who still insist on condescending to garden-making as little more than a hobby or pastime. (One thinks of the art world’s “super-curator” Hans Ulrich Obrist, who in Five Seasons, the recent film about Piet Oudolf ’s work, was able to offer only bland platitudes – along the lines of, “Isn’t it lovely?” – as to the appeal of the plantsman’s work.) Another recent innovation – a website with contact details for private visits – means that in fact the garden is not quite as impermeable as it has always seemed.
Slowly and shyly, it seems, Plaz Metaxu is emerging into the light.
For information about open days, visit plazmetaxu.com
‘I was frightened by the power of nature at times – it was both exhilarating and intimidating’