A Garden That Doesn’t Ask for Permission
Carpets of moss rolled out like an inviting path—lush, deliberate, and alive with possibility.
Still feeling lit up from my visit to the Lim Garden, where I spent 2.5 generous hours with Alex Lim—photographer turned gardener, plant collector, nurseryman, and the hands-on creator of this immersive and deeply expressive space.
Alex began the garden in 2017—the same year I made the leap from fashion to plants. While I took the academic route, he dove right in, learning by doing. What he’s created is more than a garden—it’s a layered, living work of art.
Much of it was created quickly and intuitively, but that doesn’t mean it’s haphazard. Quite the opposite. His process defied convention—placing sun plants in shade, letting things play out, then shifting them when they didn’t thrive. It wasn’t planned in the way most design work is—it was felt. Tested. Reworked.
The plant combinations weren’t chosen for visual impact, but for how they might live together. It wasn’t about creating a moment—it was about building something that could continue. A garden not of isolated choices, but of evolving relationships.
Carpets of moss were rolled out like a welcoming path. Arbors made from gathered limbs repeat throughout the space, while bridges span sunken pockets sculpted by hand. Berms rise from the shaping of those spaces—nothing feels forced, everything built from what’s already there. Water features are woven in not as focal points, but as atmosphere. There’s a quiet rhythm to it all, and a generosity.
This isn’t a native plant garden—and that’s beside the point. All gardens are expressions of their maker, but here Alex is exploring plant relationships through his own lens. It’s not about restoration or habitat compliance—it’s about density, experimentation, and a deeply attuned, site-responsive approach to layering and care.
It doesn’t strive for 70% native, or any specific ratio of ecological to ornamental. And still—there are pollinators everywhere. There’s balance. There’s life. The garden doesn’t follow the rules—and here, that feels not only acceptable, but completely right.
It also made me question the metrics we use to define what makes a garden “good.” Because what Alex has created is, quite simply, art. Art made for its own sake—not to prove a point or meet a checklist, but to express something felt and observed. And maybe that’s the most compelling part of all.
There’s space in garden-making for joy, for wonder, for surprise. For plants that stir emotion, not just serve function. We can plant thoughtfully and still be moved by the unexpected. We can make room for instinct and awe.
More soon,
Ashley