Minimalism, Over-Design & the Soul of a Garden
I’m a minimalist at heart — which is probably why I’ve always loved oriental gardens.
A rock.
A tree.
A small deck.
Beauty in its simplicity.
The irony is, my reality has been far messier.
Craig
I’m currently in the middle of decluttering my home — papers, tools, old project files. Things I’ve put up with for a decade. Clutter I’ve learned to live around. But over time, it’s become overwhelming. It stresses me out.
That feeling is compounded by my working life. Weekdays spent on site, surrounded by mud, waste, materials, and disorder — all in the process of transforming a garden into a calm little oasis. The noise, visually and mentally, becomes tiring. You live with it because you have to.
I turn 55 this year, and I reached a point where enough felt like enough.
I realised I needed to declutter not just my home, but my life — and put some focus on my wellbeing, not just the business and the next project. I’ve spent years caught in the familiar trap of “next job, next year will be better, then I’ll slow down.”
So I’ve started the decluttering journey — aiming, perhaps optimistically, for my own minimalist nirvana.
And it’s made me think:
Are we cluttering gardens by over-designing them?
When I first started designing and building gardens, my focus was heavily on hard landscaping. Large terraces. Strong features. Planting was minimal — and, if I’m honest, often poor.
Over the last 20 years, my style has softened considerably. I’ve grown to love the beauty and charm that planting brings — how it softens edges, introduces movement, and turns a space into something with warmth and character.
I often use the word “soul” when talking about gardens.
Years ago, a friend once described a very modern garden I’d designed as soulless. The comment stuck with me. At the time, it stung — but with hindsight, she was right. That moment influenced my design style more than I realised.
Thankfully, many designers (myself included) have found a better balance between hard and soft landscaping. Gardens today often feel richer, more layered, more alive.
But I still find myself asking:
Are we cramming too much into gardens now?
Jacuzzi — check.
Outdoor kitchen — check.
Pergola with rain cover — check.
Garden studio — check.
Sauna — check.
The list goes on.
Like many designers, I stay in touch with past clients as the years pass. These are friendly catch-ups — a bit of putting the world to rights, maybe some light maintenance, perhaps a small addition.
I love hearing about the joy their gardens bring:
the parties they’ve hosted
the comments from friends
the memories made
But I also tune into the numbers.
“We used the jacuzzi three times last year.”
“We cooked outside twice.”
And I feel a twinge of guilt.
I helped design a feature into their garden that isn’t really being used to its full potential — even though it was on their wish list at the time.
Which leads me to an uncomfortable but important question:
Should I be pushing back more?
Should I be asking:
How many times a year will you realistically use this?
For the cost of buying and maintaining it, how many spa days could you enjoy instead?
Will this feature still feel valuable in five or ten years?
With construction costs rising year on year, are we sometimes adding features for the sake of the design — rather than because they’ll genuinely enrich someone’s life?
Maybe the answer isn’t more features.
Maybe it’s fewer, better ones.
Spaces that breathe.
Gardens that feel calm rather than busy.
Designs that allow life to unfold, rather than ticking boxes.
As with decluttering a home, perhaps good garden design sometimes starts by asking:
What can we leave out — and still create something beautiful?
Warmly Craig
Part of the Life Stage Garden Series
Exploring how good garden design supports real life — quietly, thoughtfully, and over time.
