By Grace Roberts

There is something distinctly magical about topiaries. But for all their whimsy, they are overlooked within the world of horticulture and architecture, while realistically existing as a historically significant element of both. A niche of the general garden umbrella, topiaries fall under things that you usually see in a palace garden, guarding southern houses that probably cost more than is reasonable, and peppering country estates. The art of landscaping and outdoor architecture can be considered a legitimate form of design, but we hardly ever stop to consider this more natural side, regarding the idea of a garden as a luxurious one. More than accessories or decoration, however, they are living sculptures, plants fashioned into creatures and shapes with a precision that is both satisfying and awe-inspiring. They are playful—likely your first thought looks something like a rabbit, twice its normal size and mid-hop, immortalized in shrubbery—but they are a labor of patience and exactitude. Absolutely unnecessary, but that is at the core of what is so wonderful about them; the sheer satisfaction that they conjure up is more than enough to justify their continued existence.

The art of the living sculpture has a long and storied European history, the major points summed up by Greek and Roman fresco, a love affair with the Franco-Dutch, and a particularly scathing satire piece by one Alexander Pope (called “Verdant Sculpture”, for your reading pleasure). Around the time of Caesar’s rule, topiaries were introduced into Roman gardens, sprucing up the usually plain look of house atriums into contained landscapes. In the far East, topiaries existed in many Asian cultures as features of zen gardens. The Japanese art of “cloud-pruning” is the practice of meticulously pruning trees to look like a perfect stack of clouds, the leaves shaped into rounded circles and the stems remaining thin and exposed. Later, in the Renaissance period, they were symbols of elitism and wealth in palace gardens; Versaille is notable for its use of the greenery. Though simplistic, the year-round perfection reflected in the palace’s gardens was indicative of its status. After the decadence of this period, however, topiaries experienced a decline in popularity, and plain gardens were favored.

The gardens of Château de Marqueyssac photographed by Philippe Jarrigeon

Around the late 1800s, however, topiaries began to creep back into fashion, nudged forward by a new architectural culture and the popularity of the English cottage garden. Topiaries and groomed evergreens became increasingly popular in estate gardens, and they began to return as both a charming garden enhancement and a form of art for observation and appreciation. Around 1860, the owner of the Château de Marqueyssac in Vézac, France, turned the grounds into a masterpiece, an ode to the French’s aesthetic perfection. Today, it houses some of the most aesthetically pleasing grounds in the world—there are over 150,000 boxwoods that form geometric shapes maintained in crisp, clean perfection. Meanwhile in the United States, the idea of “home-and-garden” was becoming an integral part of upper-class culture, largely inspired by the Old English and Cotswold-style gardens of Britain. In California, Walt Disney brought a new and distinctly American style of topiary to 1950’s Disneyland, the hedges becoming fairytale creatures and characters straight out of his films. The architectural ingenuity of the parks was monumental, and the inclusion of green space essential to offset the necessity of large technological buildings and rides, so the magic and flexibility of the hedge was perfect for his vision.

Topiaries and landscape art on the “It’s a Small World” ride at Disneyland in 1955

This style of gardening has not only been popular with larger institutions, but with individuals as well. Paul Bangay, a garden designer for notable clients around the globe, has a private garden in Australia called Stonefields, which is tended to literal perfection. Do not let the idea of a “home” garden fool you—this is a multi-acre endeavor which has taken years to cultivate and sculpt, and it shows. Another such example is gardener Charlotte Molesworth. In 1983, Molesworth and her husband bought a small cottage and gardens tucked away in Kent, England. A former art teacher, Molesworth turned the Victorian kitchen garden into an eccentric tangle of greens and hedges. Creatures shaped to perfection emerge from behind trees and other seasonal growth, birds and beasts alike—Molesworth was patient enough to use seedlings, many of them yew seedlings that she had requested as wedding gifts. How amazing is that and why is that now going on your wedding registry? Balmoral Cottage, as it’s known, remains tended to by Molesworth and her husband (even in their old age), whose teamwork is what makes their garden so magical.

Charlotte Molesworth with one of her topiaries

They also occupy a niche within the illustration and fine art world. Grandpa Green is a children’s book written and illustrated by Lane Smith, whose narrative and delightful drawings focus entirely on a boy and his grandpa’s topiary creations. It was awarded a Caldecott honor, and is absolutely charming in every way—the illustrations are incredible. Artists have been captivated with their timeless elegance; the Catto Gallery in London curated a collection of pieces by artist Alan Parry in 2018, in which topiaries and the mystic of English gardens were featured heavily. Surrealist and subdued, the scenes of badminton on the lawn and evenings spent wandering gardens are otherworldly. There’s something formal yet understated about these paintings, which portray the symmetry and aesthetic balance of gardens and estates accompanied by mysterious figures.

The scope of topiaries in the art and creative world is substantial but in pop culture, too, does the art of the living sculpture exist in surprising capacity. A chess game between the hedges, cards come to life in the gardens, and a maze of shrubbery are all elements of the classic Lewis Carroll novels and movies of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass; so much so that botanical gardens institutions around the world have created specific exhibits that feature the garden creations from the novel. Author Stephen King gives a more sinister twist to the usually tepid topiary in The Shining, making them one of the horrors the Torrence family is subject to—the hedge-crafted animals move when people turn their backs, and in the movie these creature are replaced with a terrifying hedge-maze (and we all know how that ends up for Jack). In the ever-popular film Edward Scissorhands, Edward deftly shapes birds and dinosaurs and deep sea creatures in his gardens. Movies set in England on sprawling estates, like Atonement and The Favorite also feature impressive displays of structured hedges and garden walls formed by greenery—the immaculate construction of the gardens adds a visual element that’s unmistakable. It’s such a dated art, yet it continues to be impressive, adding an element of wonder and awe to the very basic element of landscape that is a lawn.

T-Rex topiary from *Edward Scissorhands* (1990)

The thing about topiaries is that while they are decorative, luxurious displays of greenery, they are no different from any other artistic form created to please and entertain. Their presence in popular culture as well as fine art is a result of their aesthetic prestige—they are simply enjoyable to look at. I spent much of my own childhood exploring children's gardens (the one in Atlanta is particularly spectacular) and helping my mother plan out her own garden, and perhaps an appreciation for the time and effort it takes to plant and then curate a space is instilled in me. But for topiaries in particular, there is an aspect of artistry, coupled with the need for patience and a keen eye, that goes into the craft. Perhaps you’ve never seen a topiary in the flesh before, or hadn’t thought about them as of late (or ever), but they are a very real and very beautiful element of garden art that receive little attention. Gardening does not immediately come to mind as an art form, but these truly combine the art of sculpture with the world of living things. Their history inspires a kind of timeless elegance; magical, whimsical, and charming, they hold a place in popular culture and high art alike, living reminders of creativity’s reach.

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