And when would you like your perspective, Sir?

A very long-awaited visit to Sissinghurst in Kent has galvanised some of my more general thinking on perspective and storytelling in all cultural, heritage and landscape settings.

Get ready to be literal and metaphorical with our blog subject this time.

St Michael’s Mount in Cornwall

In my line of work, there’s only so much theory you can learn - the rest is experience.

Cornwall has a fair few changes of level, including as a coastal landscape: sea level. When I worked with Glendurgan (a steep valley garden leading down to the Helford River), I observed that mid-way through the visit people were at peak satisfaction. Gravity had helped them walk downhill through an exotic, wildflower filled informal garden with various surprising features such as an historic maze, upturned boat-seat and bamboo bridge. They’d reached the poignant hamlet of Durgan and its sheltered beach.

But after this, it’s all uphill. And although it’s a glorious uphill, the final memory for many is getting back into your car out-of-breath and too exhausted to even recover with a cream tea.

Then, working with St Michael’s Mount (again, Cornwall), I observed how the reverse is the case. It’s a long, winding, uneven path to the top of the Mount - but my goodness is the effort rewarded. With views over cannons to the sites of unsuccessful invasion attempts, the crazy exotic gardens or back over the causeway (underwater or not) to mainland Cornwall. After that, gravity helps you down to that essential cream tea in the island village.

The Elizabethan Tower standing tall in the garden at Sissinghurst

You can read about the build-up to my stay at Sissinghurst in a previous blog post here to save me going over it again now. In summary though - it took 27 years from me first hearing about this magical place to actually experiencing it in person. And what a way to arrive - driving down the back lanes to the rear of the Priest’s House which was to be home for me and a few others for a few heavenly June nights and days. With one external door opening in to the world-famous white garden, and another into the newly (re)created ‘Delos’ garden - this was quite the entrance.

I waited this long, and invested this much (money) to be able to have just the experience I did over that week. I’m a social person. One of the reasons I personally go to museums, galleries, historic and landscape places is to convene with others. But for Sissinghurst, I didn’t want to just experience it with the hundreds of other visitors coming between 11am and 5pm. The garden is intimate and personal in its planting, its design, but also its place in history as a garden of notoriety and home to a married couple (Vita Sackville-West and Harold Nicolson) whose lives challenged the conventions of the day - and still raises eyebrows over a hundred years later. Its subtleties and nuances are inevitably lost with hundreds of unconnected people looking for the magic as they explore themselves, and get in each others way of the hundreds of photos they take to capture what they don’t have time to commit to memory.
With my guests, I slowly explored the succession of garden rooms - each with their own flavour and character. At least two gentle circuits each evening, and a further two each morning. One of the latter alone: just me, coffee, dew and birdsong.

The Cottage Garden at Sissinghurst, distinctive from its adjacent garden rooms by the use of ‘hot colours’ in the planting

I know that the garden has been on quite a journey. It has more gardeners and more funding now than Vita and Harold had. It’s suffered from over-visiting, become too formal and lost some garden areas. I’ve followed it closely in gardening and mainstream media. A bit like recognising a famous actor from a film - there are widely published features and views that you come across in person that take you aback.

The tower at Sissinghurst emerging from beyond the world-famous white garden

Given all my prior knowledge of Sissinghurst, I can honestly say that it is looking outstandingly beautiful. The structure is crisp and guiding, the planting within it is nothing short of romantic bliss. It is a performance of plants in their purest sense.

Are the garden rooms unique? No - I trained in a garden (Barrington Court, Somerset) which had several. Sissinghurst itself is inspired by Hidcote in the Cotswolds. Is the quality of design and planting the highest imaginable? Yes, but I have seen this standard in a few other gardens. Does staying the night there, and seeing it early and late in the day without visitors around transform it? Yes, but again - I’ve experienced this elsewhere too.

So what makes Sissinghurst magical?

The calmness of dusk at Sissinghurst, looking out from the Priest’s House

For me, it’s the tower.

This lofty geometric structure looms in every part of the garden. It’s like a smiley teacher supervising the school playground when you’re a child. It’s always there: behind you, on the horizon of your view, or on a couple of occasions above us as we had our evening drinks and snacks underneath it to avoid the gentle drizzle.

It anchors the whole garden together with its presence - but not in a foreboding or imposing way. And then - you climb it and look down.

Priest’s House and the ‘Delos’ garden from the tower

The white garden on the other side of the Priest’s House

In the Sissinghurst guidebook, Vita and Harold’s grandson Adam Nicolson writes that visitors should begin by climbing the tower. I’d already spent three evenings, three nights and three mornings wandering around at ground level before I did this. And I’m glad it was this way (sorry Adam!). Gently embedded into my visual memory were the moods, atmospheres, characters and features of each of the garden rooms. And from this vantage point I could make sense of the whole. In one sweep of my head I could compare the abundance of the white garden with the Mediterranean sparseness of Delos next-door. I could appreciate the ‘sorbets’ of lawned areas between the full romance of the rose garden and its other generously planted garden rooms.

The textures, structures and layout of Sissinghurst laid out below the tower

Sissinghurst gave me everything I’d anticipated and more. It taught me about the power of perspective in a place like this on a physical basis. Literally looking down on places you’ve come to know and love.

This got me thinking about perspective more generally in cultural, heritage and landscape settings. I think we so often explore these settings to get perspective. I often feel satisfyingly small when I climb a mountain or spend time by water. Many different artforms can make me consider an entirely new or little explored aspect of a subject. Understanding my position in time and space through history helps ease anxiety I have over world tensions, shifts and pressures.

I’ve been teaching museum development out in Saudi Arabia for the past few months. This has included storytelling and structure and how to divide an exhibition visit up to provide introductions, depth, engagement and finally resolution, or perspective.

I think this teaching together with the experience of Sissinghurst has reminded me the power of the places we work in and visit have to provide this essential perspective in our lives. I also realised how much I enjoy identifying and enabling the perspective itself. Whether its through museum development students who’ll go out and create their own exhibitions or working directly with client teams.

I just love the power of perspective.

Evening drinks under the famous tower at Sissinghurst, whilst the gentle drizzle falls on the surrounding garden

Jon, June 2024