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What’s in a name? In the case of landscape design firm Hortulus Animae, it’s the key to what motivates its founder Jean-Marc Flack. Hortulus Animae means “Little Garden of the Soul” and was originally the title of a book of prayers printed in the late 1400s. And fittingly, the projects he designs are soulful—expansive and intimate at once, brimming with biodiversity, and profoundly beautiful. His landscapes stir the spirit.
Before starting his award-winning practice in the Hudson Valley in 2014, Jean-Marc spent more than two decades as a fashion-industry executive. “That background, along with formal studies in philosophy, psychology, and sustainable garden design at the New York Botanical Garden, continues to inform my practice—uniting art, culture, and ecology through a deeply personal lens,” he tells us.
“I approach landscape design as both an artistic and ecological practice—a dialogue between creativity, craft, and the living systems of a site,” he continues. “My work explores how beauty, color, line, and form can exist in conversation with horticulture, ecology, and botany to create gardens that are both expressive and alive. Each project begins with the story of a place—its architecture, topography, and ecology—and becomes a site-specific response to the client’s vision and the land’s inherent character.”
Read on to learn what moves him as a plantsman and designer—and what repels him.
Photography by Jean-Marc Flack unless otherwise noted.
Your first garden memory:
As a child, I spent summers visiting my Tante Germaine’s country garden and potager in Belley, in the Auvergne–Rhône–Alpes region near Geneva. For a city kid, it was an enchanted world—my first encounter with a life shaped by plants. I didn’t yet know their names, but I was spellbound by the sensory world they created: the heady fragrance of Buddleja in the hedgerow, the rubbery squeaky foliage of Bergenia cordifolia lining the drive, the tart burst of translucent, bright red Groseille currants and the jellies they became, the crunch of pea gravel underfoot, and the cluttered greenhouse with its empty pots and tools. It was a place of pure mystery and wonder that I can still smell today.
Garden-related book you return to time and again:
On a day to day, the Manual of Woody Landscape Plants by Michael A. Dirr is an indispensable reference guide when choosing specific woody plants and cultivars. On a more philosophical level, I am extremely inspired by Gilles Clément, the French garden designer who wrote The Planetary Garden and coined such powerful concepts as the “Garden in Motion,” the “Planetary Garden,” and the “Tertiary Landscape” that have informed my approach to landscape design. I feel it is crucial for us now to rethink our relationship to the land and celebrate biodiversity, plant agency, and connectivity as directives to design landscapes that minimize disturbance and support wildlife.
Instagram account that inspires you:
@Roy_diblik_—a consummate native plantsman, designer, and ecologist, and constant source of inspiration.
Describe in three words your garden aesthetic.
Mindfully controlled chaos.
Plant that makes you swoon:
I’m captivated by Calycanthus ‘Aphrodite,’ or sweetshrub—it’s a true sensory delight. Its deep red, magnolia-like flowers, showy but never garish, bloom from late spring into early summer. Every part of the plant is fragrant: the blooms smell uncannily of strawberries, while the bark, leaves, and seed pods release a spicy scent when crushed. A hybrid by Dr. Tom Ranney of the University of North Carolina, it combines eastern and western sweetshrub species and still teems with pollinator life—from butterflies to beetles.
Plant that makes you want to run the other way:
I try not to be dogmatic about plants, but a few still make me wince. Forsythia’s blinding yellow—often paired with equally brash Narcissi—feels more assault than spring awakening. And burning bush (Euonymus alatus), with its invasive habit and electric-red fall color, isn’t far behind. There’s enough true drama in nature without the neon.
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