The Soul of a Garden: Commemorating Ryan Gainey

July 29, 2016

On this day, dear readers, we mark the anniversary of Ryan Gainey's departure from our earthly gardens.

The landscape designer extraordinaire left this world in a manner both tragic and befitting a man who lived and died by his passionate devotion to beauty and his beloved companions.

Gainey, in an act of selfless loyalty that would surprise none who knew him, perished while attempting to rescue his Jack Russell terriers—Leo and Baby Ruth—from a conflagration that engulfed his home. Neither the master nor his faithful canine companions survived the ordeal, leaving the gardening world bereft of one of its most original voices.

When it came to landscape design, Gainey was that rarest of creatures: entirely self-taught and utterly inimitable. The documentary The Well-Placed Weed: The Bountiful Life of Ryan Gainey captured his essence with remarkable clarity. (I've shared this treasure in our Facebook group—do avail yourselves of the opportunity to witness his genius)

In a moment of characteristic self-awareness caught on film, Gainey posed a question to the filmmaker: "I've had a wild life. Do you know why?"

His reply came with the simplicity and confidence that defined him: "I created it."

Gainey's Decatur, Georgia property—once the site of Holcomb Nursery—became his canvas. With an artist's eye, he removed many greenhouses but preserved their low brick foundations, instantly creating a series of garden rooms awaiting his distinctive touch. These spaces became the laboratory where he developed the style that would entrance garden enthusiasts and forge friendships with luminaries such as Rosemary Verey and Penelope Hobhouse.

His connection with Verey was particularly profound—a meeting of kindred spirits across the Atlantic. The Camellia japonica held a special place in his heart, perhaps for its bold beauty and steadfast nature, qualities that Gainey himself embodied.

A Gainey garden was unmistakable—plants cascaded and intertwined with a seemingly effortless abandon that belied the careful planning beneath.

Each specimen appeared to have grown precisely there for generations, though many had been specifically placed by his knowing hand just seasons before.

It was this magical quality that made his work so sought after among those who understood that the greatest art conceals its artifice.

"Where lies the genius of man? It is the ability to control nature... but for one purpose only; and that is to create beauty."

In a premonition that now seems laden with meaning, one hundred forty-eight days before Gainey's passing, an enormous white oak—which he considered the very soul of his life—toppled and crushed his house.

Perhaps the tree, in its ancient wisdom, was merely preparing the way.

As gardeners, we understand that creation and destruction are merely different expressions of the same natural force.

Gainey understood this better than most. His gardens, like all truly great gardens, contained within them the acknowledgment of mortality and the defiant, beautiful response to it.

So today, as you tend your plots and borders, consider how Gainey approached his art—with boldness, with vision, and with the understanding that we do not tame nature; we simply negotiate with it to create moments of transcendent beauty.