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Iris Blends (1 of 2)

From “Iris, Indispensable and Irresistible” in The New Perennials Preferred by Helen Van Pelt Wilson:

“The iris or fleur-de-lis, Ruskin’s flower of chivalry, ‘with a sword for its leaf and a lily for its heart,’ is a cherished perennial. Alone in spacious hobby gardens it makes a magnificent spring and early summer picture with long drifts of translucent white passing into cream and yellow and pink, lavender, purple and red terminating in masses of seashell and sunset blends….

“The most important iris is, of course, the bearded type, the earliest of which blooms for me about mid-May. In this group, do consider the intermediates which I find so attractive to flank the taller kinds in the border. Of sturdy constitution, they grow from sixteen to twenty-eight inches tall and are, indeed, intermediate in size of flower and height….

“The taller bearded iris have in recent years undergone a transformation which makes the varieties of today a far and joyful cry from the muddy purples and blurred yellows of the plants we knew in childhood as ‘flags.’ Selecting a limited group, however, is a complicated business, for varieties now number in the thousands with a flowering period from mid-May well into June, and heights varying from thirty to fifty inches.

“If you have a rather small layout but wish to feature iris, arrange it so as to simulate depth. I once saw in an almost square plot, with a paved circular center, iris set in skillful gradations in deep triangular corner beds to give perspective. The whites and yellows were planted in the foreground. These have, of course, the strongest visual value. The blues and pinks were behind them with the deeper violets… giving an effect of distance in the background….

“Another good way to lay out an iris garden, large or small, is with elliptical beds with broad paths of grass bisecting an oblong surrounded by some evergreen hedge, or better still a low stone wall made broad enough to sit on….

“When you want to work out pleasing groupings with a bicolor or blended iris, do the way you do when selecting a blouse for a tweed-mixture suit, where you want contrast and not a match. If the tweed is violet with a blue thread, you pick out a blue blouse of the same shade, but if there is a pale yellow line through the tweed, you wear a cream or pale yellow blouse or sweater. In each case you emphasize the secondary tone.”


Hello!

This is the first of two posts with photographs of multicolor irises that I took at Oakland Cemetery toward the end of spring this year. There are several varieties of bearded irises represented here — most likely variants of Iris pallida or Iris x germanica — but they’re distinguished from other irises by the overlapping distribution of color combinations in their flower petals. In iris color terminology, they would all be classified as blends (defined as the “combination of two or more colors blended together, whether smoothly or unevenly”) — a useful way of singling them out from their relatives, regardless of their species or variant names.

I took all of the photos on one of those breezy late spring days — the days you relish because you know summer’s oppressive humidity is not too far away. The morning started out mostly cloudy, but the wind was strong enough to push clouds around all during my photo shoot, sometimes changing the lighting entirely between the time I framed a composition and the time I pressed the camera’s shutter button. In similar conditions, I’ll often just wait for the clouds to return and cover the sun, but lights on/lights off happened so frequently I just decided to lean in and go with the flow (double-clichรฉ alert!). Throughout the entire series, I ended up with four identifiable lighting scenarios, represented by these four photos.

The first photo (top left) shows a pair of blended irises in full sun, where the sun is above and behind me, so light is distributed evenly across the entire image. To the extent there are shadows among the leaves or petals, they’re produced by the leaves being turned away from the angle of the sun or where one part of the plant casts shade over another. Lighting like this can expose fine details when the photos are well-focused, though there is some loss of gradient color — the alternating colors appear to begin and end at precise boundaries instead of gradually blending — simply because the sun overpowers less saturated colors. At the same time, shadows can be intrusive or distracting (though can be balanced better through editing), and the background — which has nearly identical brightness to the foreground — is less separated in terms of light and color, so the image tends to appear somewhat flat overall.

The second photo (top right) shows similar lighting for the foreground and subject of the photo, but in this case the light is coming mostly from the left. Because the plant was growing at the edge of a group of tall shrubs, this side-lighting renders the background heavily shadowed. This lighting — which looks a lot like studio spot lighting — produces color and detail similar to that of the flower in the first photo, but provides subject/background separation since the background is naturally darker. This separation — in terms of color, brightness, and focus — also means that the background can be altered to introduce a greater sense of three-dimensionality and implied depth by further blurring and darkening it in Lightroom. The background leaves were actually just a few inches behind the blooming flower; but I edited them to give the impression they were farther away.

With the third photo (bottom left), we begin to see how diffused lighting — when the sun goes behind clouds — can introduce effects that better show off the color characteristics of these irises. Because there’s no strong or harsh lighting, the subtle color variations threaded through each flower petal become more evident, and there are no shadows cast across the petals or leaves. The lighting on the main subject is diffused enough to render fine color variations in the petals, yet strong enough to introduce the kind of glow generated by scattered lighting coming simultaneously from the side and back of a translucent subject. The dark stone wall behind the subject creates some contrast to help show off the flower colors; and the additional light caught by the desiccated flowers at the top of the wall makes each spent bud gleam a bit, like strings of Christmas lights seen from a distance.

The final image (bottom right) demonstrates a common challenge with photo shoots on full sun days when the subject of a photo is partially or fully shaded and the background catches all the light. Here we have a version of that fourth photo before I’ve wrapped up editing. The flower — the subject of the photo — is largely swallowed by the bright background; indeed, it’s possible that your first glance at this photo would barely register that the flower was there. In real life, your eyes and brain compensate for these odd lighting conditions naturally — balancing them out — and you wouldn’t necessarily notice the flower was in the shade. But a camera simply records what was there, rendering the scene as a dark foreground and excessively bright background.

To improve this photo, we want to swap the lighting conditions between the background and foreground. Because the flower and its leaves are sharply focused and the background isn’t, Lightroom can readily distinguish between the subject and background so they can be adjusted independently to reverse the brightness relationship. We can get an image that closes the gap between how our human visual system interprets a scene like this and how a camera captures it — a technique that isn’t complicated and is available in any photo editing app that provides the ability to selectively edit subjects and backgrounds.

Here are the two variations of this photo side-by-side; select either one to compare them in a slideshow. Note the incidental improvements in color in the final version: colors become more intense and saturated because they’re darkened in the background, but lifted out of shadows in the foreground…

… revealing just how many colors are present in a blended-pattern iris like this. And these irises certainly pass the “tweed suit test” described in the last paragraph of The New Perennials Preferred by Helen Van Pelt Wilson at the top of this post: the colors in the flowers complement each other with contrasting patterns, and, for these irises in particular, the flowers mirror the colors and patterns of stone structures in their surroundings.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!












White Iris Mysteries (2 of 2)

From “White Flags” in Garden Bulbs for the South by Scott Ogden:

“The first perennial irises to bloom in spring are several antique bearded types of dwarfish stature…. The ‘beards’ of these species are formed by long rows of feathery stamens, which mark the centers of the three outer petals, or falls. The inner petals, or standards, curve upward and inward to create the familiar fleur-de-lis seen as a motif in historic art and architecture….

“The most familiar of the historic irises in the South is the old white flag,
Iris albicans. The Latin epithet, which translates as ‘off-white,’ was given to plants found growing in Spain during the mid-1800s. Although these irises are now common waifs in many warm countries, their original homeland appears to be on the Arabian Peninsula. Tradition holds that the Moors carried this iris wherever they traveled in conquest, planting the flowers as memorials on the graves of fallen Muslim soldiers….

“When Spanish colonists came to Florida and Mexico, they brought this Mediterranean flower with them and continued the tradition of planting them in cemeteries. These are now the most common irises in the South.

“The leaden flowers and gray, sword-shaped leaves of
Iris albicans line paths and fill graveyards and vacant fields in March. They are often accompanied by early blue flags, thought to be variants of the same species: on some occasions a blue flower may be seen sporting from the side of an old clump of white I. albicans….

“For as long as
Iris albicans has been in gardens, it has suffered confusion with a near relation, the pale white I. florentina (Florentine iris). This famous plant is the preferred source of orris, a fixative used in the perfume industry…. This iris is still raised for this purpose in Tuscany….

“The Florentine iris differs from
Iris albicans in its taller, more open spikes of bloom. These carry papery bracts that often dry and turn brown by the time the flowers open. Although the blossoms are larger than those of I. albicans, they open sparsely and are less effective in the garden….

“Early garden writers described
Iris florentina as a natural species, but botanists now regard it as an ancient hybrid. Like I. albicans, it has a blue variant. Although less common and prolific in Southern gardens than the early flags, I. florentina tolerates the climate better than many modern bearded irises. It appears occasionally in old gardens and may be seen blooming in April, several weeks after I. albicans finishes for the season.”


Hello!

This is the second of two posts with photographs of white irises that I took at Oakland Cemetery earlier this year. The first post is White Iris Mysteries (1 of 2), where I dug into how the names of white irises like these have evolved, from their historically early designation as Iris florentina through many intervening variations to the widely accepted name Iris albicans, then back to Iris florentina again. You might wonder why anyone would even do that research — I know I wondered! But as the picture became clearer, I realized I had unexpectedly come across an event that is rare for someone who is not a scientist, nor a naturalist, nor formally trained as a botanist to encounter: the reclassification of a plant species that was in progress, one not yet universally accepted by experts in the field.

While I’ve often encountered historically varying plant names and written about them here, the context was typically associated with past events: a plant got named decades or centuries ago based on its visual or environmental characteristics or its cultural significance, then got renamed subsequently as more information became available through additional exploration, discovery, and scientific analysis — all stemming from the way knowledge advances in concentric circles or connected spirals rather than in a strictly linear fashion.

For my purposes here, identifying a plant and researching its name changes provided a way to develop a partial and condensed story suitable for writing about on a blog — as opposed, say, to the entire chapters in botany books that might be devoted to seminal events where nomenclature changes occurred. The identification served me as an anchor for a story, that anchor pointed toward other names and other threads I could explore, and I’d pick a few of those threads to pursue and write about them here.

What we have with Iris florentina is a little different than that: the kind of anchor I’m used to launching my research from has been replaced by a contemporary rather than historical event, and it’s just unfolded recently. Its recency is reflected in the excerpt I included at the top of this post — which shows that when Scott Ogden published his book Garden Bulbs for the South in 2007, the plant commonly observed as a White Flag or Cemetery Iris in the southeast could have been either Iris florentina or Iris albicans.

The author goes into a lot of detail (part of which I excerpted last year to support my original identification) about what allegedly separates the two species, encompassing historical understanding of their visual and structural differences — which are now believed to reflect variations based on the plants’ propagation under different growing or overall environmental conditions. That section of his book would have to be rewritten now to accommodate how Kew Plants of the World Online has collapsed the two species into one by treating Iris albicans as a synonym of Iris florentina rather than a separate species. But that part of the story can’t yet be fully told: what I uncovered in the first post establishes a marker reflecting the recent reclassification, something I plan to take another look at when — as is likely — I photograph these white irises again in 2027 and can assess how widely accepted Kew’s reclassification has been, or if the debate “rages on.”

Stay tuned!

Thanks for reading and taking a look!










White Iris Mysteries (1 of 2)

From “Iris florentina” in Classic Irises and the Men and Women Who Created Them by Clarence Mahan:

“One iris was an important economic commodity in centuries past: Iris florentina. The story of Iris florentina is fascinating and complex. The complexity of the history of Iris florentina stems both from the existence of a widely distributed imposter and from taxonomic reclassification.

“The authority of taxonomists is an awesome power for advancing our knowledge of the physical world. But taxonomists are not immune from errors of fact or judgment. This is exemplified by the history of
Iris florentina. The history of Iris florentina is also evidence of the wisdom of the illustrious 15th-century Florentine architect Leon Battista Alberti who observed that ‘nothing overshadows truth so much as authority’….

“During the Middle Ages the city of Florence became famous for three products: gold coins, fine silks, and orris root. The Florentines, who seldom missed an economic opportunity, were known to sell the finest quality orris root. It was made from white irises grown on the hillsides of Tuscany. These white irises owed their fame and their name to the city of Florence….

Linnaeus described and named the white bearded iris in 1759. He gave it the name
Iris florentina, which is what herbalists had been calling it for at least two-hundred years.

Pierre Joseph Redoute painted the first detailed and botanically accurate picture of
Iris florentina. Redoute’s painting was reproduced in Les Liliacees, often considered the finest set of botanical prints ever produced, in 1802….”

From “Iridaceae: Iris albicans Lange” in  P. J. Redoute Lilies and Related Flowers by Brian Mathew:

“It is unfortunate that the plant illustrated so beautifully by Redoute was not the same plant as the Florentine Iris, from the rhizome of which the perfume and medicinal agent known as orrisroot was obtained. The plate actually depicts an Arabian species, which was later described by J.M.C. Lange as Iris albicans. The true Florentine Iris is the more well known of the two and is also white-flowered, but is almost certainly nothing more than a colour form of the common Iris germanica and not a distinct species….”

From “White Pigeons” by Laura Maner Sams Sanders in The Yearbook of Contemporary Poetry 1936, edited by Margaret Nelson:

Today I saw white pigeons fly
O’er a snowy dogwood tree.
The background was a slaty sky,
With white clouds, foaming mistily.

White, densely foliaged Cherokees
Were blooming on a near-by fence.
Among them supped the honey bees,
Enjoying their fresh fragrance.

White irises on cool green stems
Were gleaming in the shady light.
Each flower held clear, dewy gems.
A symphony in green and white.

O’er this space of white and green
Six pigeons chose to wing their way.
As if to help complete the scene,
And add more beauty to the day.


Hello!

This is the first of two posts with photographs of white irises that I took at Oakland Cemetery earlier this year. Oakland’s white irises are among the first irises to appear in March or as early as February, continuing to bloom for six to eight weeks, with a few exuberant ones making an appearance well into the summer if their growing conditions permit. The poem I included above describes one of their key visual characteristics — white gleaming even in shady light — and they tend to be visible from great distances because of that glow and their presence on a landscape not yet quite filled with spring color. The poem also highlights the color white’s appearance in other parts of the scene it describes, including the blooms of a Cherokee Rose — a plant I photographed at Oakland around the same time (see Rosa laevigata, the Cherokee Rose (1 of 2)).

I wrote about these white irises last year as part of a series of posts (see Natureโ€™s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (6 of 10)) and identified them there as Iris albicans. While that identification is still not inaccurate (!!), it doesn’t reflect the intricate history of this plant’s names, something that became apparent to me when I tried to follow a link I’d included to a Wikipedia page about Iris albicans. The linked page — originally “https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iris_albicans” — no longer exists, and Wikipedia instead redirects automatically to its Iris florentina page instead.

Now, while it’s true that my approach to this blog has evolved into an informal “take pictures and teach yourself botany” methodology, it struck me as unlikely that I wouldn’t have noticed that an Iris albicans Wikipedia search took me to a plant with a different name entirely. By digging around in the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine, I found a snapshot of the article I’d originally linked to dated October 2025, shown here…

… where you can see a note that says “It has been suggested that this article be merged into Iris florentina” near the top of the page. As good news to this amateur botanist, the snapshot of an October 2025 Iris albicans page meant that when I had previously linked to it — in June 2025 — it did indeed exist on Wikipedia. Nevertheless, this recent and very deliberate name change struck me as an emerging mystery that I needed to dig into.

As I’ve mentioned here many times, I use PlantNet to try to identify plants I photograph at Oakland, then use other resources to support PlantNet’s suggestions. PlantNet anchors its identification intelligence around various floras — roughly, geographic regions aligned with the body of native plants typically found there — so I uploaded four of these white iris photos to see what PlantNet had to say about them, using the Southeastern U.S. Flora (because that’s the region where I photographed the plants).

As you can see from this screenshot, PlantNet only identifies these white irises by their genus name Iris — something that happens mainly because they’re not native flora in my southeastern corner of the United States. This isn’t too unusual, and it’s often true for plants I find specifically at Oakland where — reflecting its Victorian history — the plant residents include a wide variety of non-native species whose ancestors would have been imported in the nineteenth century when gardens and garden cemeteries like this were being established. And in this case, PlantNet provides a useful message explaining that “A similar-looking species has been detected in another flora” with a handy button to click to identify the same images in World Flora encompassing the whole natural world.

Based on what I thought I knew about these irises, I would have expected PlantNet’s World Flora to tell me they were Iris albicans, as I identified them in 2025, but their identity comes up as Iris florentina instead:

So now I have two data points sending me away from Iris albicans toward Iris florentina; or, in the words of Rabbit from Pooh’s Heffalump Movie: “What we have here is a mystery of the most mysterious kind.”

Resolving (or merely understanding) the mystery took me back to the fifteenth century, where — as the first quote at the top of this post explains — the original plant name Iris florentina derives from the connections between the plant’s native presence around Florence and the commercial development of orris root for medicinal use in Italy. The blending of botanical and economic disciplines often lends weight to the cultural significance of plant families and species, and Iris florentina fits that model: the plant became widely studied and appeared in art and literature, such as in the Portinari Altarpiece painting from the 1470s where it carries significant religious symbolism. By the 1800s when botanical artist P. J. Redoute famously attributed a white iris drawing as Iris florentina in the first volume of his Les liliacees series (you can see the drawing here), the name was well entrenched for similar-looking white irises (in part from Redoute’s influence as an illustrator), even as botanists began to suggest other potential names and species differentiations for various observed white irises.

That helps explain why the definitive-sounding cliffhanger at the end of the Mahan excerpt above can be contradicted by the second excerpt from Brian Mathew’s book P. J. Redoute Lilies and Related Flowers, where Mathew stakes a different claim: that Redoute’s Iris florentina is actually a drawing of Iris albicansIris albicans being one of several names proposed for these white irises in the decades after Redoute published his Iris florentina drawing. But with discussion over whether these irises should be called Iris florentina, Iris albicans, or grouped with Iris germanica spanning both the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Mathew’s claim isn’t the last word either — a conclusion we can safely derive from my discovery of the recent Wikipedia article switch-up and unexpected PlantNet results.

Both the Wikipedia article and PlantNet’s floras use Kew’s Plants of the World Online for plant scientific names and plant family relationships (or taxonomies), and Kew now treats the name Iris albicans as a synonym for Iris florentina rather than as a separate species…

… supporting that conclusion with research produced as recently as 2024. So we have, in effect, returned irises of a particular species to their earlier European names and collapsed two species of irises into one — which means that the cultural, botanical, and historical threads of Iris florentina and Iris albicans are now intertwined.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!