Last spring, while shopping with a client, we turned down the opportunity to purchase a collection of 19th century botanical frames … not drawings or paintings, but pressed flowers, lovingly taped down and labelled in a beautiful handwritten script.
I know. Don’t give me a hard time. It was a mistake not to get them. Believe me I’ve thought about them often enough since. They seemed pricey, we were tired, we hesitated a while and let it go. These things happen.
Today, probably to free myself of the bugging feeling that I missed something special, I created a personal take on the 19th century pressed flower or ‘herbier’. Of course my sprigs of flowers from the garden, freshly cut and simply laid in the centre of a frame is a poor and distant cousin to the real herbier that speaks of long afternoons and evenings, with little else to do than curate a little meadow side beauty. They give me pleasure nevertheless and I hope they’ll do the same for you.
With warm wishes from an autumnal Normandy and many thanks for coming over to read me.