Ashamed of such imperfect works in progress, English aristocrats cleared their gardens of topiary and began in a new naturalistic style. But the trend couldn’t be held back for long and reemerged in the Victorian era, and again in the 1960s when, inspired by the great gardens of Europe, but too impatient to wait for his own shrubs to grow, Walt Disney instructed his gardeners to use time-saving methods to create his Fantasyland menagerie in California. Using frames as guides, and stuffing them with moss and other natural materials, the Disney method became known as portable topiary and its popularity spread across the rest of America. This use of perennials as child-friendly decoration sparked the imaginations of creatives, who subverted the medium. Frightening topiary figures have since been used to creepy effect by authors from Edward Gorey to Daniel Handler writing as Lemony Snicket. Spooky bushes pop up to scare adults too: think of the hedge animals coming to life in Stephen King’s The Shining, and Edward Scissorhands’ fantastical creations.
Over the 20th century, topiary lost a bit of its allure and became a signifier of suburban tackiness. It’s difficult to ascertain just how and when topiary became kitsch, but artist Jeff Koons’s ‘Puppy’ – a 12m-tall West Highland terrier sculpture made from turf and flowers – might have played a role.
A tension has certainly emerged between high and low topiary, illustrated by a Financial Times story in 2008 of a couple in Essex who responded to demands
from their neighbours to keep their hedges in check by clipping them into two erect phalluses. It seems there are as many approaches to topiary as there are personality types.
‘People just want to be themselves. Topiary is not prescriptive and there’s not only one way,’ says Charlotte, whose garden includes dogs and peacocks, balls and chess pieces. ‘In my garden I’ve allowed other people in and they’ve made their mark.’ Fellow topiary designer Darren Lerigo has taken over a proportion of the hedges in her garden at Balmoral Cottage, his fluid and organic style mixing with her playful birds and formal shapes. The two teach workshops to gardeners of all abilities.
The intrinsically democratic nature of topiary is undeniable. The practice is open to anyone with a plant and a pair of scissors. ‘From a palace to a pot,’ is one of Charlotte’s sayings. This is the essence of her approach – democratic, playful and patient – and why she’s the ideal role model for a generation who are less blessed with space and security than the previous one. Her own garden was started on cuttings and seedlings of box and yew. How long did it take her to feel that her hard work was paying off?
‘I see a garden in seven-year cycles,’ she says. ‘By seven years, it won’t really have done anything, you’ll just be getting a garden planted up and starting to grow. After 14 years, it’s developing. In 21 years it’s really mature. That’s if you start from scratch. Wealthy people can buy time, they’re buying maturity. If you start big you’ve got to have deep pockets, but if you start little you’ve just got to wait.’
What tips would she give to those just starting out? ‘You must tell your readers about the importance of good tools. These shears are just like an extension of the body. Sideways, upside down, you can use them in any position.’ I have a try with the shears and agree that they are indeed a joy to snip with. For those with established shrubs already in their gardens, Charlotte also recommends taking the lower boughs off to lift them, and freeing the ground underneath for something else.
In the digital age, topiary has grown again. On TikTok, a video of a boxwood ball tagged #topiary and #oddlysatisfying has 3.4m likes. In the summer of 2021, an American reality television series entitled Clipped featured Martha Stewart as a judge and pitted topiary artists against each other to win a grand prize of $50,000. Google searches for the artform have increased by 60 percent over the last 12 months.
I suggest to Charlotte that this renewed interest may reflect our yearning to concentrate, to seek an escape from the technology that’s gradually stealing our focus. Charlotte agrees, describing her feeling when clipping as a ‘flow state’.
‘When you’re making anything you get that energy flow, a rush. I think that’s why it’s so enjoyable because you have to concentrate. You can think of other things but in a way it’s better if you don’t. You’re looking after a life, and you’ve got to be tuned in. They don’t stay constant, it’s evolving the whole time. And that’s a nice thing to take you out of all this other business going on.’
