"Pay attention to the world." -- Susan Sontag
 

Orange Double Daylilies (1 of 2)

From “Hemerocallis Fulva” in The Heirloom Flower Garden: Rediscovering and Designing with Classic Ornamentals by Jo Ann Gardner:

“The Orange or Tawny Daylily is a vigorous species with large flowers about 5 inches across — orange with darker zones and stripes in shades of red and mahogany — giving the effect of a tawny color, preserved in the Latin epithet fulva….

“In Asia, where Daylilies have been cultivated for thousands of years, they are regarded as a source of food and medicine. The flowers are picked fresh and fried in batter or dried and used to thicken soups. Preparations from the plant are used to relieve jaundice and dropsy and to reduce fever and pain….

“In Europe and the New World, the Daylily has always been cultivated for its beauty alone.
The Lemon Yellow was a special favorite in English cottage gardens. Both the Orange and Yellow Daylily were brought to the New World during the 17th century and widely cultivated across the land. The more vigorous Orange Daylily remains a faithful signpost to many heirloom plant collectors, who know that where it grows, an old garden cannot be far away.

“Until the late 19th century, only these two species were grown in America. By 1860 a double form of the Orange — crowded with petals — was introduced from Japan, where it had been noticed by European travelers since about 1712…. In 1897 a new Orange, ‘Maculata’, was added to the pool of Daylilies, offering later bloom and larger flowers with a deep bronze patch on each petal….

“By the 1920s, America had become the leading center for hybridization, the goal being the creation of ever-new types with larger flowers of diverse forms — wavy, frilled petals, for instance — an expanded color range, and a longer blooming period. The old Orange, naturalized along roadsides across the country, was one of the leading contributors to the breeding process….”


Hello!

This is another one of my favorite daylilies to photograph at Oakland Cemetery — which is probably something I can say about all the daylilies that I’ve ever photographed as well as those I haven’t photographed yet, but will.

It’s been three years since I dwelled with this particular batch of flowers. The last time was in 2022 (see Summer Daylilies (2 of 3): Double-Double Orange-Orange), when I determined that they were a double form of a more common yellow/orange daylily called Hemerocallis fulva.

Here’s where they live:

This is an especially distinctive space among the many distinctive spaces throughout Oakland Cemetery, notable for much more than the orange double daylilies standing tall at the back. When I took this photograph, the steel chain was in place to discourage entry; but in the past, it’s been accessible (note how there’s a rust stain on the top step, where they chain often sets) so I’ve walked up the steps and sat on the stone bench at the right of the photo.

From that position, the space demonstrates how it’s so unique. The use of grass throughout the space is unusual; and that, along with the placement of shrubs and trees around the edges, creates a sense of visual and auditory isolation from the rest of the property. That your sight is contained within its boundaries, and external sounds are effectively muffled to near silence, actually mirrors the design of the entire cemetery, with its acreage surrounded by hefty brick walls that separate you from the busy streets outside. It’s like a microcosm of the rest of the cemetery, one with its own independent architecture. And that architecture includes the use of plants whose appearance will vary with the seasons, since much of the greenery you see here will exhibit rich fall color in October and November.

Many of the designed plots at Oakland Cemetery contain elaborate sculptured memorials — statues, mausoleums, or other structures representing the people memorialized there and aspects of their lives. Note, however, this one contains only a single memorial stone (right in front of the daylilies) — which doesn’t necessarily convert the square into a straightforward garden, but suggests that its designers favored the creation of a contemplative space rather than a simple (or even complex) memorial. From the bench, there’s a sense of peace that unfolds while you sit there — one that is still quite powerful even if you can only observe it from the outside.

Some of the irises I photographed for my iris project made an appearance here a few weeks earlier, their remnants visible among the green leaves surrounding the daylilies. This daylily cultivar may have been bred to increase its height (while doubling its petal production), as some of its stems extend nearly four feet above ground. This was convenient for The Photographer, who — unwilling to jump the chain and invade the space (this time anyway) — used a zoom lens from outside positions to get a closer look at the flowers.

With a zoom lens and limited sight lines, I had to take whatever lighting conditions I could get, which meant that some of the flowers had a lot of sunlight on them when I took their pictures. The effect — which I didn’t notice until I got home — was that the saturated orange from the flowers combined with the yellow that is natural to sunlight caused the flower petals to act like reflectors casting yellow and orange throughout the entire scene. The effect is similar to results you could intentionally achieve in a photography studio, using a yellow or gold reflector to bounce light from the reflector onto your subject.

This level of warmth in an image of orange flowers isn’t necessarily wrong, nor is it uncommon. See, for example, all these images of double orange daylilies that display similar colors throughout the subjects and backgrounds. But I knew — from what we like to call “real life” — that while the stone behind the flower could have been that sandy brown color, it wasn’t. Much of the stone near these flowers was typical of Oakland Cemetery’s stonework: it’s gray to very light blue, with textures that alternate between the two colors. The leaves, too, didn’t seem quite correct; they should have been a more unadulterated green than the yellow-green in this image.

So these two characteristics of the image told me that some color correction was appropriate, to more accurately represent the colors that I saw. In this case, only a simple white balance adjustment coupled with reducing orange and yellow saturation a smite or two was necessary to remove the color cast, clarify the colors, and create better contrast between the blue-gray stone, the green leaves, and the star of the scene: the daylily’s rich orange.

When I last photographed these daylilies in 2022, this was the only family of them on the property. This year, however, I subsequently stumbled across another colony whose flowers were close to eye level and weren’t visitor-inhibited. That enabled me to get some much closer shots of individual flower blossoms and a few photogenic groupings, which I’ll feature in the next post.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!











Pink Daylilies and Magenta Colors

From “Color in the Daylily Flower” in The Illustrated Guide to Daylilies by Oliver Billingslea:

“Color is evaluated by the visual sense of light reflected or transmitted by the flower. The term hue is the specific or family name of a color; value is the lightness or darkness of a color; and intensity refers to the brightness or dullness of a color.

“Modern hybrid daylilies have a remarkably diverse color range, especially considering that the wild types from which they have been bred were found only in shades of yellow, orange, fulvous (dull reddish-yellow), and rosy-fulvous. Today, the only colors notably lacking are pure white and pure blue — colors which hybridizers are avidly pursuing.

“The outer portion of the segments, excluding any contrasting edging, is considered the basic color of the flower. The present color range of daylilies includes yellow in all shades from palest lemon, through bright yellow and gold, to orange; red in diverse shades of scarlet, carmine, tomato red, maroon, wine reds, and blackish reds; pink from pale pink through rose pink to rose red; purple from pale lavender and lilac to deep grape or violet; and melon, from palest cream shades to peach to deep cantaloupe.

“Some colors appear to require the presence of genes for two basic colors; for examples, shades of buff, brown, apricot, and peach are thought to be variations of pink + yellow. Near-whites are found among the palest tints of yellow, pink, lavender, or melon. The actual pigments which produce the colors still need research, as does color inheritance.

“The center area of the flower is called the throat. In most daylilies the throat area differs in color from the rest of the flower. Usually it is a shade of green, yellow, gold, orange, apricot, or melon. It can be very small and narrow or it can reach far up on the segments. The very center of the throat is sometimes referred to as the heart and may be a different color; for example, a yellow-throated daylily may have a green heart.”


Hello!

This is one of my favorite daylilies to photograph at Oakland Cemetery, and I’ve gone back every late May or early June for several years to hunt down this particular variety just to take pictures of it again. “Hunt down” may be a slight exaggeration, since it’s easy to find — it’s one of the first flowers to be seen just inside the cemetery’s main gate.

This daylily contains one of the purest examples of the color magenta that I’ve found among those flowers I photograph, many of which appear to be magenta but are actually variations of light red (trending toward pink), or blends of orange and red. When editing photos of magenta flowers like this in Lightroom, you have very little magenta color saturation to work with, partly because it’s not a primary color (like red or blue) with a large number of varying shades or hues. If you try to decrease magenta saturation directly, the magenta will quickly turn nearly white; and if you try to increase its saturation, you’ll end up with a garish pink color that nobody wants to see. To effect accurate perceptual saturation of magenta, you instead alter the primary red and/or primary blue color channels, using Lightroom’s Color Calibration function. Similar (yet less subtle) results can be achieved by increasing contrast, increasing blacks, or decreasing whites — all of which make the image darker overall but also yield the illusion that magenta has become more saturated, with some loss of smooth transitions between shades of magenta, pink, and red.

It’s a fascinating flower to photograph and edit because of these special characteristics of magenta, given its petals are almost entirely magenta with some red tones, especially at each petal’s edges. This combination is one that our cameras and processing programs detect quite precisely, but we tend to interpret more simply, as the color pink. This shorthand approach serves us well, since magenta is a blend of equal parts blue and red, yet there’s no visible color wavelength called “magenta” in the physics of color. These two principles are observable in Lightroom: if you increase either the saturation of primary red or primary blue, the magenta color in these petals intensifies by about the same amount. And if you decrease primary red saturation and increase primary blue saturation by the same relative amounts (say -100% red and +100% blue), you arrive at exactly the same magenta color you started with.

Yet in natural light, even magenta’s limited saturation range responds quite differently to sunlight versus shade. Note how the left image below — taken when the sun was out — looks so different from the image on the right, taken when the sun went behind the clouds. The effect of additional sunlight actually mimics decreasing saturation in Lightroom: some of the magenta color shifts toward very light pink or even white because of the floodlighting effect of the sun, while the shaded version retains the saturation that was evident in the flowers in real life.

This is not to say that the version on the left is more accurate than the one on the right. Both are correct but reflect different lighting conditions, even if one version might be more appealing to some people than the other. I typically prefer images like the one on the right — taken in the shade — because I like the color rendition better, but, more importantly, limited sunlight reveals all the color and texture variations the flower presents. The flower’s minute details aren’t overpowered by the sun and color contrasts (like those of the yellow throat and the green heart) are much more precise. Especially with daylilies, though, you can’t wait too long for your favored lighting conditions, because the plant always lives up to its name, and its flowers disappear in a day!

Thanks for reading and taking a look!












Nature’s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (10 of 10)

From “Bearded Irises, Act I” in A Guide to Bearded Irises: Cultivating the Rainbow for Beginners and Enthusiasts by Kelly Norris:

“The earliest varieties of irises grown and appreciated by gardeners in the 16th and 17th centuries were likely wild hybrids between Iris pallida, the source of lavender pigments, and I. variegata, the source of yellow pigments. Early collectors gave them various names, some pawned off onto botanists as species names like I. amoena, I. squalens, and I. neglecta. Each represented a relatively distinct color group, but the variation seen between clones was highly suggestive of their hybrid constitution. These seed-grown bearded irises were variously distributed across European gardens from the mid-17th century on. It wasnโ€™t until the 1820s, when Parisian nurseryman Paul de Bure raised and named hundreds of seedlings, that the movement to popularize bearded irises gained a footing; โ€˜Buriensisโ€™ (c. 1822) was his first introduction….

“By the 1870s the bearded iris fascination had crossed the English Channel, and early enthusiasts like Peter Barr were leading the production of new varieties in the British Isles. It was in the 1890s that many breeders, churning out dozens of new varieties each year, began to wonder if theyโ€™d reached the limit of the bearded irisโ€™s potential. One of these was Sir Michael Foster, a professor of physiology at Cambridge and by all accounts among the most esteemed iris connoisseurs of his day. Foster grew and experimented with all irises, including oncocyclus irises from the Mideast and spurias….

“The American interest in bearded irises originated with diploids. Bertrand Farr, a music shop owner from Pennsylvania, imported Peter Barrโ€™s entire collection (over 100 cultivars) and established a nursery near Wyomissing in the early 1900s….

“As America was catching the initial round of bearded iris fever, a schoolmaster from Godalming, U.K., was feverishly making crosses of his own. William Rickatson Dykes is the undisputed godfather of the genus, a position he earned partly through his association with Sir Michael Foster, a friendship begun at Cambridge while Dykes was a student there. Upon Fosterโ€™s death, Dykes inherited, by way of a mutual friend, copies of his predecessorโ€™s notes and garden records, and like Foster, he bravely ventured into all sorts of deep and muddy waters with his experimental crosses between diploids and tetraploids and dwarf and tall species….


“Dykes traveled extensively to document species in the wild and collect them for horticultural evaluation; in his short breeding career, he introduced 34 cultivars, most in the early 1920s. Dykes died following a car accident in 1925. Two fitting tributes marked the next year: his wife, Katherine, introduced the yellow iris that bears his name, and in June 1926 the British Iris Society created the Dykes Medal honoring the most outstanding variety of the year — an award still coveted by breeders worldwide.”

From “Familiar Landscapes” by Lawrence Raab in The Bread Loaf Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry, edited by Robert Pack, Sydney Lea, and Jay Parini: 

Morning’s sudden and extravagant
green seems to suggest the higher
whiter waves of the air, what moves
through the flurry of these
first leaves, floating and falling
beyond everything I am able to see.

Against that brightness, a flock of blue,
a single yellow iris
creaks on its shaft….

How persistently
the eye resists the familiar,
so easily finding itself content
among its accustomed walls,
the expected trees and avenues,
that it fails to see them
and will acknowledge
only what has been changed or lost
or taken away.


Hello!

This is the tenth of ten posts featuring photographs of irises that I took at Oakland Cemetery toward the end of April. The previous posts are:

Natureโ€™s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (1 of 10);
Natureโ€™s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (2 of 10);
Natureโ€™s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (3 of 10):
Natureโ€™s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (4 of 10);
Natureโ€™s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (5 of 10);
Natureโ€™s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (6 of 10);
Natureโ€™s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (7 of 10);
Natureโ€™s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (8 of 10);
Natureโ€™s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (9 of 10).


In the ninth post in this series, I introduced a “self iris” whose standards and falls all demonstrated an intense, highly-saturated yellow color. As I described in that post, the ability of that iris to produce colors with such intensity originated in its genetic heritage (enhanced carotenoid production) as well as its growing environment (full day sunlight), which worked together to encourage the iris to produce more and more yellow-colored cells. In this post, we’ll look at some other yellow variations, so I’ve placed two representative samples to the right of the previous yellow self iris below to show their visual differences.

The irises like those in the second and third image above are located in older sections of Oakland Cemetery, neither kind receiving the same level of full-day sunlight as the first one. The partial sunlight they receive varies because they’re all located at boundaries between sun and shade, where nearby shrubs or trees filter out some sunlight at different times during the day. Both kinds get most of their sun exposure during the morning hours — something that irises like these are usually very happy about — with those like the second image spending most of their afternoons in full shade.

At the time I took the photographs — around mid-day — those like the second one were already fully shaded. That actually puzzled me a little, as I didn’t realize there were any irises that could do well with so little light, until I came across this brief note in Irises: A Gardener’s Encyclopedia by Claire Austin:

“In very hot climates, bearded irises will flower in shade. In Britain, the only bearded iris that managed to bloom in my garden in semi-shade was Iris flavescens, an old soft lemon variety.”

Though I couldn’t confirm it, I’d already concluded from my research on yellow irises that there was a good chance the shaded varieties were genetically related to Iris flavescens or its ancestors — because of their visual similarity to the yellows produced by William Rickatson Dykes and subsequent breeders. That such cultivars have been adapted to partial shade adds a bit of confirmation to that conclusion, especially since these shade-tolerant irises demonstrate another feature that enables them to adapt to lower levels of sunlight. Their falls — as you can see in the second image — don’t droop downward like the falls in the first and third images. Instead, they open to a horizontal or slightly upturned position and stay there while the flowers are in bloom. This enables them to capture additional sunlight (compared to the droopy falls), take advantage of fewer hours of sun shining on their petals, and still keep their photosynthesis humming along. Their ability to do so well with limited sunlight makes them ideal for their placement among the old memorial structures and stonework in the historical sections of the cemetery — where their heirloom quality fits perfectly with the garden design.

The final thirteen images below show different views of the blooms on a single iris plant, a very stately one positioned at the intersection of two walking paths in front of terraced walls, where it beckoned me to photograph it as well as its white and purple relatives in the background. This iris captures light midway between the well-sunned yellow self irises and the mostly-shaded heirloom irises, something that can be seen in its color production. The yellow saturation falls about midway between the other two cultivars; and its position in partial sun means that it doesn’t have to flood its petals with protective yellow carotenoids. It can, instead, retain and display one of its most significant features: carefully placed swatches of yellow near the throat of the falls, and similarly colored yellow striping edging those petals around an oval-shaped white foreground.

My camera, as it turns out, was somewhat mystified by this iris, and produced a RAW image that was mostly yellow — or at least appeared that way because there was enough yellow to create a color cast over the entire image. We end up with this color cast because there’s enough light (despite a cloudy sky) to over-saturate yellow and the color yellow fills so much of the frame in this close-up view.

A simple white balance adjustment — which removes yellow tint — gets us part way there; or, at least, starts to hint at the contrasting color combinations that are present in the falls. Now we can see that there’s pure white that was hidden by the camera’s interpretation.

This improved view of the colors in this iris’s falls influenced the adjustments I made next: I changed the color relationships to create greater separation between the flower’s yellow tones and its whites, then added some texture. The texture addition finishes the job, sharpening the contrast between yellow and white, and enhancing the fine vertical lines that run down the falls. Here are the three step changes showing the transition from the camera’s original interpretation, to the white balance adjustment, to the final version of this image.

Making these adjustments produces a cleaner and brighter image, but it also does something more important than that. It shows a flower that reflects the intentions of its breeders, who altered its genetics to produce the yellow and white contrasts, and the yellow edging, in the falls. The placement of this yellow edging reveals those intentions, because — as you can see in the final photograph — it’s so precise that it looks like it was drawn there, and appears not only on the tops of individual petals but is reflected or mirrored in the colors underneath the petals. Coloration like this is not likely an accident of nature for irises with decades of breeding history, so their photos should acknowledge the technological and scientific efforts, and examine that in the context of their use in formal or memorial gardens like those of Oakland Cemetery.

With that, we’ve come to the end of this project. Through ten posts, about 300 photographs, and around 10,000 words, we’ve done much more than just looked at pretty pictures of fine irises. We’ve traversed topics like how irises are classified scientifically and into color or pattern categories; how their appearance reveals their genetic history and breeding; and how they adapt to their environment by producing different colors and forms. We’ve positioned them across multiple cultural dimensions and explored how they fit into memorial or botanical gardens; how their presence relates to garden design; how photography, art, and poetry can help us see them better and learn more about them; and how they’ve been observed throughout history as symbols of life’s bounty, beauty, and endless complexity.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!