The Invisible Generosity of Design: Why Structure Matters More Than Style

Design is often mistaken for decoration—the final flourish of planting or the placement of a beautiful chair. But for me, design is actually an act of generosity. It is about listening to the land and creating a framework that supports the life you want to live within it. In my practice, and in the pages of my new book (coming September 2026 via Murdoch Books), I often talk about "relational design." This isn't just about how things look; it’s about how they relate to one another—how the light hits a wall, how a path guides your rhythm, and how a gate greets your hand.

When I begin a design, I don’t start with the plants. I start with the "bones"—the supporting structure. If you get the bones right, the garden holds itself together, even as the seasons shift and the ephemeral layers fade. And the most critical bones of all are often the ones we overlook: our perimeters.

The Perimeter as a Canvas

We tend to think of fences and gates as mere boundaries—lines that say "mine" versus "yours." But in a well-designed garden, the perimeter is a canvas. It anchors the space, defines its volume, and provides the containment that makes a garden feel safe and immersive.

At my own property, Little Cottage on a Hill, in Daylesford, my fences are hardworking elements of the design. They aren't just barriers; they are orchard walls holding espaliered fruit trees, and backdrops that catch the winter sun to create warm microclimates. A fence provides the constraint that allows abundance to flourish. Without that strong, defined edge, the garden bleeds away; with it, the space becomes a room, holding you in its centre.

The Gate as a Threshold

If the fence is the wall of the room, the gate is the invitation. In landscape architecture, we talk about "thresholds"—the psychological transition from one space to another. A gate is the most tactile moment of that journey. It sets the tone. Is it heavy and secure, signalling a retreat from the world? Or is it open and rhythmic, allowing views to bleed through?

I use a process called "trace-layer mapping" to understand how people and nature move through a site. Where does the wind come from? Where do you naturally want to walk? A gate shouldn’t fight these forces; it should choreograph them. It directs the flow, framing a specific view as you enter, forcing a pause, a breath, a moment of arrival.

The Invisible Generosity of Hardware

This is where the concept of "intentionality" becomes tangible. You can have the most beautiful timber gate or an architecturally stunning fence, but if it drags, rattles, or fights you every time you use it, the design has failed. This is why I partner with Downee.

In design, we often say that the best details are the ones you don’t notice because they work so perfectly. As an iconic Australian brand trusted for generations, Downee understands that true quality is quiet. Their hinges, latches, and automation systems provide that invisible generosity—acting as the silent "supporting structure" that ensures the garden functions as effortlessly as it looks.

Whether it’s a heavy rural gate that swings with the touch of a finger or a seamless automated entry that welcomes you home in the rain, this hardware ensures that the "bones" of your garden are robust enough to support the life you live within it. It is design that doesn't just stand there; it holds you.

Designing for Memory

Ultimately, a garden is a vessel for memory. It remembers the seasons, it holds our stories, and it grows with us. But for a garden to become a sanctuary—a place where you can truly exhale—it must first function. When we treat our perimeters not as afterthoughts but as foundational architecture, we create spaces that don't just look good, but feel good. We create gardens that hold us.

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