Autumn garden artistry

After crossing the lawn, which is west of the house and the site of several family weddings, you pass through a 12-metre-long tunnel made from bent pipes and lathing. Robin calls the trek through it the walk to paradise, since it's intended to mimic the type of blind walk taken by ancient Roman gladiators on their way to the arena. The reward at this end isn't an arena, but is instead a Greco-Roman rotunda draped with honeysuckle and within sniffing distance of fragrant rugosa roses and the nearby Mediterranean garden.

The rotunda, which features fan-backed chairs and a pebble-mosaic floor, is a favourite with a local opera singer who loves to come and test the almost perfect acoustics, thanks to the TV satellite dish, which acts as both a roof and a shallow planter.

Robin couldn't figure out how to top the rotunda until he spied his neighbour's cast-off satellite dish while walking Britney, his German shepherd-border collie cross. "It's the perfect size and shape," he enthuses. "Best of all, it was free."

The garden was developed first near the house and gallery, then moved out from there. Early on, Robin joined the local horticultural society, where he bought divisions of montbretia (Crocosmia x crocosmiiflora), shasta daisies, irises and Japanese anemones at plant sales.

"I got big clumps of stuff for next to nothing," Robin says. Other deals were made through trades (a Hopper-designed teapot in exchange for an artistic cluster of large rocks outside his gallery) or through plant adoptions-many of his large rhodos came from a local hybridizer who needed to scale down his garden.

Just as Robin's garden has evolved over 25 years, so has his garden philosophy. He now thinks of his garden as a human organism (see "Garden Anatomy"). Using that analogy, the heart is undoubtedly the walled meditation or tea house garden, which is clearly visible from the kitchen, dining room and adjoining patio. Along with reflecting Robin's desire for aesthetically pleasing views from any window in the house, it also gives him and Judi a sense of privacy. It is the only area closed to the public-though people can catch glimpses of it through the gallery window.

At centre stage is the pond, which is surrounded by a variety of maples interplanted with rustling bamboo, rhododendrons, groups of azaleas and irises, including Siberian, Japanese and orchid iris (Iris japonica), Japanese water irises (I. ensata) and numerous native species of Pacific coast or California irises. The pond and inner garden are beautifully serene, whether viewed from the patio, which is overhung with yellow winter-flowering jasmine and variegated kiwi vine (Actinidia kolomikta), the Japanese bridge that crosses it or the sanctuary of a seat in the tea house at the eastern end. Yet illusion plays a role here, too.

The pond seems to be one large pool, but it's really two ponds-one for lilies and one for koi-the join is cleverly concealed by the bridge. (Robin's first pond proved too shallow for the koi, so he constructed a second years later.)

The Japanese maples in the area include Acer palmatum 'Suminagashi', with purple-red foliage turning to red in fall; 'Seiryu', with lacy green leaves changing to orange; and 'Filigree', which produces pale green leaves that turn gold in autumn.

At one end of the pond is a pair of noble bronze cranes that are nearly two metres tall; at the other end is a weeping Atlantic blue cedar (Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca Pendula'). "Its pendulous form echoes the shapes of the rocks and the waterfall," Robin explains.

One of the newer additions that Robin is particularly proud of is the Asian woodland in the eastern part of the garden, around the corner from the bog garden and down a zigzag path. "Evil spirits always go in a straight line," Robin muses. This part of the garden feels very tranquil. From a seat on the gateway bench at one end, the view is both restful and compelling. Like other parts of the garden, many of the plants here do double duty. Stinking gladwin iris (Iris foetidissima) produces glossy evergreen leaves and attractive flowers, but the big draw is its large seed capsules that break open in fall to produce brilliant orange seeds. "They're like flowers in their own right," Robin says.

There are more maples here, too, providing fall colour and winter form, as well as 'Midwinter Fire' bloodtwig dogwood (Cornus sanguinea 'Midwinter Fire'), which Robin cuts back to about 30 centimetres each spring. It always bushes back, and in fall the bottom third is yellow, the middle of the plant is orange and the top is brilliant red.

The most important tool in the garden, according to Robin, is imagination, on which he drew heavily when he had to construct a road to his septic field that would cross a path between the house and gallery, and Robin's studio. "You often see dry riverbeds in gardens, so we decided to create one of our own-with a twist."

Robin hand made and glazed 100 clay, koi-shaped tiles to set into a 15-centimetre-thick, aqua-tinted, cement "river" he could drive on, crossed by a traditional Japanese bridge. Now, 92 pottery koi “swim” downstream and eight "swim" upstream. In the nearby Zen garden just outside the gallery, a meditation bench allows visitors to contemplate the fish along with rock sculptures, a stunning Chinese golden-rain tree (Koelreuteria paniculata) and a shimmering cloud of giant feather grass (Stipa gigantea), with its narrow, evergreen leaves and airy yellow flowers.

Robin's garden is a large canvas, where he plays with textures, colours and forms. He encourages others to do the same because, he points out, "a garden is one of the most important opportunities people have to be creative with their immediate environment." When reminded that not everyone has his artistic eye, Robin brushes the comment aside and adds optimistically, "There's an artist in everyone. Besides, if you don't like the results, there's always next year."