From “Smuggling Tea and Chrysanthemums” in Chrysanthemum (Botanical) by Twigs Way:
“As with all rarities, the chrysanthemum was at first only available to the wealthy, as prices reflected the difficulties of obtaining the plant, especially as it was not possible to create seed. But as prices dropped it became a focus for the ever-diligent ‘florists’ or plant fanciers, who began to experiment with obtaining different varieties and colours….
“In 1824 Henry Phillips listed the chrysanthemum as one of the plants ideal for the autumn border, alongside the dahlia (first seen in Europe in the late eighteenth century), Chinese aster, hollyhock, Michaelmas daisy and the golden rod.… Phillips records that more than thirty varieties were available in England, having ‘escaped from the confinement of the conservatories of the curious, and as rapidly spread themselves over every part of our island, filling the casements of the cottagers and the parterres of the opulent with their autumnal beauties, that now vie with the Asters of their native land in splendour and variety of colour.’
“The range of colour was in fact so notable that Phillips took the creators of early nomenclature to task for having assigned the name ‘chrysos-anthum’ to a flower that was no longer necessarily gold. Running through the possible permutations of petal shape, arrangement and colour, Phillips enthuses over ‘changeable white, quilled white, tasselled white’ and plain ‘superb white’. Yellows ranged from buff to orange and flame, and reds from pale rose to rich crimson as well as the old purple and ruby or claret colour….”
From “Chrysanthemum Courtyard” in Beyond the Moongate: Poems by Agnes Nasmith Johnston:
The fingers trace the filigree
patterns of the mind.
Eyes see beyond the medallion
where willows swish the ground.
Hearts run into unknown courtyards —
flash as bright fish
in a sun-dusted pond —
stretch —
to reach gold red chrysanthemums.
Hello!
This is the third of four posts featuring photographs of mums and daisies from Oakland Cemetery’s gardens, that I took in late November and early December. The first post is Red Mums and Daisies (1 of 4), and the second post is Red Mums and Daisies (2 of 4).
I chose the poem above for this post because of its reference to “gold red” chrysanthemums — which seemed to fit this batch of flowers so well because of the contrast between the nearly pure-red flower petals and their yellow-gold centers. When working on the photographs in Lightroom, I noticed that there is a bit of reflective color between parts of the flowers: some red from the petals overlaps the gold in the center, and vice-versa, slightly altering the color perception of each one so that the colors seem to blend despite strong contrast between the two.
All the photos in this post are from the same section of the garden (where I also found the magenta flowers I posted previously), where they tumbled over the stone wall in photogenic batches and were quite insistent that I take their pictures. The wall in this section is about four feet high, built in the earlier days of the cemetery and consisting of a mix of brick and stone with a gray concrete top, one slightly curved downward to create a softening effect. As you look at the first five photos, imagine that there is a raised square memorial plot to the left, surrounded by the wall: these mums were growing in that plot through to and over the edges of the wall.
At the base of the wall, you can see one of the many curved brick culverts, an important part of the original cemetery layout and part of its drainage system. Not evident from the photos is that these drainage culverts are installed around all similar plots — to ensure water could be diverted away from the walls — and are connected to each other to channel water out of the area, to the back of the cemetery and to its many large drains. So they serve this practical purpose, while simultaneously creating a set of contrasting colors and textures that are endemic to the property’s aesthetic characteristics and its history.
This particular construction — a raised memorial section at the top of a wall, surrounded by red-brick drainage culverts — is common in areas of the property where members of wealthy families were interred and memorialized. The memorials were designed to reflect the family’s social and financial standing, and create a physical legacy representing their status and wealth. That they were raised above ground level was part of this multi-dimensional representation, the height and often elaborate design implying status while creating a private and segregated remembrance space distinct from others on the property.
Originally the families paid for this type of construction, for any memorial structures and burial services, and for maintenance and groundskeeping for some period of time — which is why these sections are often opulent and reflect the rise of a prosperous social class in Atlanta’s early days. Eventually, the maintenance and preservation of such plots would revert to cemetery management, supported by a mix of membership fees and donations, public financing, financing enabled by the property’s presence on the National Register of Historic Places, the affiliated Oakland Historic Foundation, and the efforts of volunteers. The memorial legacies thus expand from their connection to the families that built them, to a role as part of a public historical place.
We tend to experience historic places like this visually (in real life or photographically); but it can be fascinating to take any single element we see and try to tease out its layers of meaning. This is perhaps even more true at a time when we’re inundated with images, most of which are imprinted on our brains in milliseconds and often as quickly forgotten. Yet a few flowers cascading over an old brick wall can be much more than that — if you ask questions about why they’re there and how all of the things surrounding them are inter-related. A brick or a flower or a wall then becomes the starting point for a connected and integrated understanding of what you’ve seen or what you’ve captured with a camera, blending history, social norms, aesthetics, landscape design, botany, even color theory — all parts of “learning to look” as John Stilgoe describes in Outside Lies Magic:
“Learning to look around sparks curiosity, encourages serendipity. Amazing connections get made that way; questions are raised — and sometimes answered — that would never be otherwise. Any explorer sees things that reward not just a bit of scrutiny but a bit of thought, sometimes a lot of thought over years. Put the things in spatial context or arrange them in time, and they acquire value immediately. Moreover, even the most ordinary of things help make sense of others, even of great historical movements.”
Thanks for reading — and learning to look!
