Sewing Seeds: The Cultural Significance of Flowers

In celebration of the Royal Horticultural Society's Chelsea Flower Show opening today, 21 May until 25 May 2024, we are republishing Sewing Seeds: The Cultural Significance of Flowers from Selvedge, issue 52. We hope you enjoy it.

Text by Sarah Jane Downing

Even for the least horticulturally minded, flowers fill our closets and our homes. You might eschew chintz or floral frocks, but there will be few who avoid the odd tea towel or embroidered handkerchief. Flowers have been regarded as nature’s jewels since the dawn of time, a fragrant symbol of blissful times in the Garden of Eden before the fall of man. Linking nature and sensuality, religion and spirituality, the flower is a sexual being without sex and symbol of God’s perfection.

For ancient Egyptians, Buddhists, and Hindus, the lotus blossom with its remarkable ability to bring forth beauty from the slime of marsh or river bed, and its simultaneous bearing of flower and fruit represents spiritual purity and enlightenment. The lotus or water lily also suggests reincarnation as its waxy seeds have a remarkable resilience and can germinate successfully even 200 years after being shed, but only in the correct conditions. Little in the way of Egyptian textiles survive but a fine linen tunic found in Tutankhamen’s tomb features a chain stitch embroidered panel with lotus design, and a tapestry woven cloth from the tomb of Tuthmosis IV has an all-over design of lilies and papyrus. Lotus motifs appear in Chinese embroidered robes and Japanese textiles, often stylised in wheel form to represent the cycle of life.

Image: Woman's coif of linen, Blackwork, England, 1570-99. Image above: Chintz, Block printed cotton, India, 18th century.

The rose is a ubiquitous symbol of love and beauty, dating from Greek and Roman mythology when the rose became the flower of Venus, representing her love transcendent beyond life, after the death of Adonis. Like many ancient and pagan symbols the rose was adopted by Christianity to represent the Virgin Mary, and her mysterious union with Christ. Jesus proclaimed himself The Rose Of Sharon, the most beautiful and fragrant of all flowers; he bloomed in the light of the father and the Holy Spirit, and like the rose retained his beauty and fragrance even when bruised and humiliated. The red rose represents the martyrdom of death, and the white rose represents the ‘white martyrdom’ of celibacy and monastic life.

It is no surprise that this divine symbol was adopted in both its forms by two of the most powerful families of medieval England. The red rose of Lancaster and the white rose of York were only united in 1485 with the founding of the Tudor dynasty. The rose was an extremely popular motif in Elizabethan society confirming support for Elizabeth I and honouring her purity. It is possible in a society rife with plot and intrigue that the rose was also esteemed for symbolising silence and secrecy. Roses were festooned on the ceilings of ancient Greek dining chambers to remind guests that whatever was said ‘sub rosa’ would remain within the room. Dried roses were suspended from the ceilings of medieval council chambers and solidified in the stucco work of the Elizabethan and Jacobean ceiling. Elizabeth herself had a gown with sleeves festooned with jewelled rosettes, and shoe rosettes became popular with men, continuing into the reign of James I who was also partial to them. The rosettes were extremely expensive, costing up to £5 a pair as noted in Peacham’s Truth Of Our Times (1638) and so became an obvious symbol of nobility.

In 1561 Queen Elizabeth I refounded the ancient Broderers Company, providing a royal endorsement for professional embroidery. Domestic embroidery, which since the Middle Ages had largely been the province of professionals for church vestments, became firmly established as a desirable artistic pastime. And the new trade routes from the east brought an abundance of deliciously coloured silks, and steel needles replaced the drawn-wire needles which were difficult to manipulate.

Embroidery and gardening seem to have always been linked. As Elizabeth I sent her fleets out to discover and conquer, the agriculturally led economy eagerly awaited new plants. The potato and tobacco have been enshrined in our history, but many more were celebrated in Herbals, which would give the folklore of the plant, its uses in beauty preparations and cookery as well as scientific and botanical information. Each plant was cherished for its qualities that made all the difference to unpalatable, salted and cured produce during the long winter months, provided vital vitamins in a meat heavy diet and represented the sum extent of medicinal knowledge. In turn the Herbals provided inspiration for embroiderers who would work images of these botanical panaceas for their natural beauty, and the qualities they symbolised.

Flowers were commonly worked in scrolling patterns to fill an entire area in blackwork embroidery. Popular for small items like caps and book bindings, it also became fashionable for garments like the tight canions worn by Sir Christopher Hatton for a portrait in 1575. Other flowers or sprigs were taken directly from the Herbals, formally stylised and stitched in tent stitch on smaller pieces of fabric, then applied to a background of velvet or silk. These slips were easier to work than the whole garment or a bulky bed hanging, and they could always be reapplied elsewhere at a  later date. During her time imprisoned at Lochleven, Mary Queen of Scots worked many flower slips, some of which were applied to bed curtains at Scone palace.

Image: Flowers and Birds. Linen embroidered with coloured silks, silver and silver-gilt thread. England, c.1620.

Whilst roses offered a thorny challenge, carnations – or gilliflowers as they were often known – were favourites for their striking serrated petals and their connotations of love, as it was said that carnations sprang up on the ground where the virgin Mary’s tears fell on the way to Calvary. Both Chaucer and Shakespeare named the pansy as ‘love in idleness’: it was brewed in a love potion for Titania, and was supposed to be a cure for French pox, an early STD.

In mythology foxgloves were created by Juno when Jupiter threw down her thimble; they have a long association with fairies, as caps or dresses for the good ones, and given to foxes to muffle their footsteps on night raids by the bad ones. Primroses in all their buttery prettiness represent the first flower of spring, but sadly also refer to lost love, as the gods turned Paralisos into a primrose when his sweetheart left him and he died of heartbreak. The deliciously fragranced and dinky lily of the valley were cultivated in 17th century English gardens for medicinal purposes: they were the symbol of May Day and known as ‘ladder to heaven’, providing a pious note to the needlework.

Mythology has it that when Cupid suggested to his mother Venus that there were girls prettier than her, she flew into a rage and beat the girls until they were black and blue, shrinking into violets. This may be the origin of the flower’s connotation of modesty; it also offers a connection to Venus, binding the flower’s long association with romance. Violets were also for remembrance; strewn across graves their fragrance was believed to protect mourners from the ‘poisonous exhalations’ of the cemetery. Bluebells were associated with grief and mourning, said to have been created by Apollo from the blood of his love Hyacinthus when he was killed by the god Zephyr. The Elizabethans also valued bluebells because scraping their bulbs would produce a sticky slime which was used to starch ruffs.

When Elizabeth I died at the age of 70, she left behind over a thousand dresses laden with jewels and bullion embroidery of gold and silver. She treated symbolism in a most literal way, or at least her portrait painters did: a wide variety of flowers and animals were displayed to convey the remarkable wealth and diversity of her dominion.

Mary Queen of Scots was represented by a thistle, and she worked a marigold reaching for the sun on the Marian Hanging, alluding to her repressed status. The Stuart family, like most Scots clans, had their own plant insignia. The Stuart house was symbolised by oak and the scalloped leaves and acorns often found their way into designs to show a secret true Jacobite allegiance.


Image: Textile design with flowers. Brocaded silk. Spitalfields, London, England, 1760-70.

The restoration of Charles II in 1660 saw the reintroduction of artistic sensibilities after the dour influence of the Commonwealth. By now he was well travelled and returned with a taste for the exotic and luxurious. The Tree Of Life design came from Iran, where it was thought to bear the seeds of all living plants and was usually depicted on a mound blossoming with flowers, surrounded by fruits and a range of animals represented regardless of their relative size and origins.

The 18th century brought the Enlightenment, Romanticism, and a riot of floral designs inspired by the romantic themes of nature and the exotic. Painted or printed chintz fabrics from India became so popular that the import of them was periodically banned in England and France, stimulating the growth of the printing industry. Stylised flowers and plants in all hues were printed, embroidered and brocaded onto the vast robes volante and a la Française, with additional muslin whitework fitchus and aprons. Artificial flowers were added as a corsage or even peppered all over the gown.

Stomachers were richly embroidered with exotic blooms and ‘fly embroidery’ added a third dimension to ruffled sleeves and deep necklines. Fly fringe was produced by the parchmentry and sold through the haberdasher. Extremely popular in the final quarter of the 18th century, cord was braided with knotted and tufted floss silk, with the addition of parchment strips that were covered in silk and twisted into the shape of petals of tiny flowers. Although the indigenous flowers were now depicted in a more natural way, they were no longer shown growing: but rather in elaborate formations in posies, baskets, Chinese vases or in the architectural hallmarks of the age – the urn or obelisk.

Men’s silk waistcoats and jackets also bloomed with rich exotic flora, peonies, tulips and carnations. In his Encyclopedie, Diderot described a workshop in Paris, typical of the day, where the designs were already completed, only to be cut and made up for the customer as required. These were hothouse flowers to represent the hothouse existence of a rarefied and privileged elite on the brink of their demise.

Flowers were not always mere symbols of the establishment, morality or a simple pastoral existence. The Macaronis of the 1770s were the first group to use clothes to make a political statement. These young men took the extreme styles of the pre-revolutionary French aristocracy and exaggerated them to the point of parody. With fantastical floral embroideries on waistcoat and jacket, oceans of lace, oversized wigs and undersized hats, they satirised the effete affectations of the upper class male, undermining them with an insinuation of homosexuality.

Floral motifs were perennially popular throughout the 19th century. Tiny sprigs were block printed or tamboured white on white onto light muslin, and cotton Empire style high-waisted gowns and the new reticules were frequently embroidered with flowers. Chintz cottons remained popular for the leg of mutton sleeved bell-shaped dresses of the romantic period, the shorter skirts offering up the stockings and straight dancing slippers as new sites for embroidery.

Indian influence was wrought once again with the vast paisley shawls that became almost ubiquitous during the 1840s and 50s, as they were the only thing capable of being worn over the enormous cage crinolines. They satisfied the desire for the exotic, the richly worked borders and central medallions so unlike European designs, and the silky soft goat wool from Kashmir had the sleek gloss of satin. Associated with Paisley, the leaf-like cone or buta design – meaning flower – evolved from a flowering plant found on Hindu textiles dating from the 17th century. The buta represents the almond or mango, a symbol of earthly gardens and those of paradise. The buta shapes could be filled with flowers – English roses and wheat were sometimes used for the British market – or sometimes stylised petals. Foliage would spring from the buta or they would be combined in large designs to become the blossoms or foliage of a larger plant.

Image: Rose furnishing fabric, by William Morris (1834-96). Printed chintz. England, 1883.

The Arts and Crafts movement of the high Victorian era celebrated the Pre Raphaelite Brotherhood’s love affair with the medieval days of yore. As a reaction against contrived designs executed in gaudy aniline dyed threads, William Morris and his contemporaries Sir Edward Burne Jones, Walter Crane and Lord Leighton founded the Art Needlework school. Heavily influenced by Elizabethan embroidery and tapestry they sought to create medieval and classical images in gentle natural colours, including naturalistic depictions of British wild flowers with a particular love for honeysuckle. Screens, bedcovers and hangings depicting classically beautiful maidens hip deep in flowers and foliage executed in a faintly Art Nouveau style were extremely popular, but even more so were Morris’s printed textiles of abundant florals such as The Strawberry Thief.

The graceful lines of Art Nouveau embraced the sinuous beauty of the iris, chosen by Louis VII of France as his emblem when he joined the crusades in 1147; it became the symbol of the French royal family in addition to representing Iris, the messenger of the gods who travelled between heaven and earth on a rainbow. This iris, or rather the Japanese form the ‘ayame’, became popular for their elegant shape as did the chrysanthemum. The symbol of Japan was embraced as part of the late 19th century trend of japonism, and chrysanthemum associations bloomed all over Europe. Oscar Wilde’s associate Pierre Loti published Madame Chrysantheme which promoted the idea of supplicant oriental beauties as did the Puccini opera Madame Butterfly. The chrysanthemum was scattered freely across the funnel shaped reduced bustles of society ladies of the early 1890s, and returned frequently in the new bohemian styles of Paul Poiret.

In the 20th century war, depression and war again took beauty from the lives of all but the richest, and most people could not afford to dedicate gardens to flowers when they needed food. Parks were ploughed and planted in the dig for victory and for years England’s green and pleasant land was neither green nor pleasant. The make do and mend ethos sprouted a new interest in needlepoint and embroidery, and an evening bag with floral panels on black taffeta became quite the thing. The 1950s saw gardens restored to orderly lawns surrounded by flower borders and the cabbage rose became a style icon emblazoned in improbable blue, lilac or bronze on summer dresses, for corsages, half hats and bedroom carpet. A rose for remembrance: the blousy blooms acknowledged those lost and made a positive reassertion of England unbowed.

Flower power became synonymous with the hippy pacifist movement of the 1960s and 70s, resorting once more to the emblem and themes of romanticism and enlightenment. A new political compassion, renewed belief in the individual ‘rights of person’ rather than only of man, and an appreciation for the environment were marked with vivid stylised florals. New modern fabrics were printed with improbable blooms, and psychedelic paisley buta swirled in a Led Zeppelin symphony and a purple haze of ‘weed’-derived smoke. Once again the beauty and innocence of a flower was used to represent philosophy, emotion and the beauty of life.

Sewing Seeds: The Cultural Significance of Flowers by Sarah Jane Downing was first published in issue 52 of Selvedge Magazine.