IN MEMORY OF A MENTOR

“There is some strange intimacy between grief and aliveness, some sacred exchange between what seems unbearable and what is most exquisitely alive.” - Francis Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow

I wanted to dedicate this month’s writing to the memory of Nigel Dunnett. Since hearing the news of his death a few weeks ago, I’ve been reflecting on our years of collaboration and the profound impact he had on my life - not just as a colleague, but as a friend and a mentor.

What stands out most about Nigel’s life is how much aliveness he brought to so many people. He transformed environments and, in doing so, I don’t feel it’s an overstatement to say that he transformed lives.

Through drifts of perennials and wildflower meadows breaking through the concrete grey of cities, or the surreal Superbloom filling the moat at the Tower of London, Nigel’s work brings a wildness back into the built environment. These bursts of colour do more than just soften the urban environment - they transform it, absorbing pollutants and floodwater. His projects do more than make places more beautiful - they have changed the environment itself, reshaping how people experience the places they live.

From our very first project together - when Nigel invited me to create an artwork that would become the focal point of the RHS Garden at the Chelsea Flower Show, I was immediately struck by his passion, generosity, talent, and spirit.

I was already thinking about the impact of nature on the built environment, but Nigel’s ability to literally transform a space pushed me to think more expansively. He was a true artist, and he inspired me constantly.

We worked together many times over the years, but the green living wall and mural in the heart of Sheffield city centre stays with me most. It ran along a busy bus route, and I remember cleaning the site only a year after it was finished. Wiping down the leaves and the wall, our hands were quickly covered in black grime. It was a physical reminder that these plants weren't just decorative. They were working. They were breathing in the soot of the city so we didn't have to - nature quietly doing the work that concrete never could.

Nigel and I in front of the living wall, our hands blackened from cleaning the leaves.

We also created an animated painting in Sheffield’s Love Square, named Urban Biophilia. It explored the concept of biophilic feedback - the ongoing dialogue between nature and the urban environment. While urbanisation often feels at odds with the natural world, we found that the emotional connection to our environment is what bridges the gap.

Through projects like these, I saw firsthand how deeply Nigel believed that cities could be healthier, more humane, and more alive.

Nigel was a visionary in his field, and it will be hard to fill the void his passing leaves behind. But his impact is already so deeply rooted in the world around us - in the landscapes he transformed, the people he mentored, and the ideas he set in motion. I know many will continue the work he began.

One memory I keep returning to is from Chelsea, in the chaotic frenzy of the build with BBC cameras suddenly swinging toward us. Nigel didn’t skip a beat; he just raised a knee in that signature, casual gardener’s lean and began to talk. He was so eloquent, so entirely in his element, while I stood beside him feeling suddenly mute and awkward.

Afterwards, he must have seen the 'deer in the headlights' look on my face. He didn't offer a platitude; he just quietly admitted he’d spent his early years feeling exactly that same awkwardness. It wasn't innate, he told me - it was just a skill. In that one quiet admission, he did more than just reassure me; he leveled the playing field, making space for me to find my own voice.

He also trusted me with his students at Sheffield University as a guest lecturer, something I remain deeply grateful for. I was brought in for a special project where the students were given an open budget and a blank canvas, but initially, they were playing it safe - staying in a box that hadn’t even been defined. Nigel looked at the polite, restrained plans and then looked at me; he wanted me to challenge them to create landscapes that pushed the boundaries of what was possible. By the next week, the room felt alive and the ideas were finally flowing - a field of butterflies in Tiananmen Square and an orchard in Covent Garden.

What amazed me was that, while fulfilling major international projects, he never stopped teaching and inspiring the next generation. To me, that showed a passion that transcended personal ambition. It revealed how deeply he cared for the world we live in, and how committed he was to inspiring future generations to continue making it more beautiful, sustainable, and alive.

It is hard to reconcile the fact that we will never work together again - that our journey has been cut short. I will always treasure every project we shared and remain deeply grateful for his support and guidance.

We never really know how long our journey will be with each person we meet, but Francis Weller describes grief as “soul work” deepening our connections and exposing our need for one another.

Loss has a way of revealing what is alive in us - what has mattered enough to leave a lasting imprint. Nigel’s work changed landscapes, but for many of us he also changed the way we move through the world. That kind of presence does not disappear easily.

Grief has felt especially close to me recently, and not just in the loss of Nigel. It has made me think more about endings, change, and the way absence can sharpen our awareness of what is alive and meaningful. I keep returning to Francis Weller’s words about the intimacy between grief and aliveness, because I believe grief is, in many ways, a measure of connection - a reflection of how profoundly someone has shaped us.

To Nigel, you will be missed by so many. Your impact on the world - and on the built environment we share - will leave a lasting legacy.

I feel lucky to have known you.

With much love, Jo