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

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 albicans — Iris 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!













Iris japonica (2 of 2)

From “Iris Chinensis: Chinese Iris” in The Botanical Magazine, or, Flower-Garden Displayed (Curtis’s Botanical Magazine), Volume 11, 1797:

“The public are indebted to Mr. Evans of the India-House, for the introduction of this plant from China, where it is a native.

“It flowered last year, at different periods, for the first time, in many collections near London; this irregularity of its blowing was occasioned, we presume by its being kept in different degrees of heat, in the stoves of some, and the green-houses of others;
Mr. Thomson, Nurseryman of Mile-End, at the close of the year, had it growing very luxuriantly in the open ground; but the very severe winter of 1796โ€“1797, in which the thermometer at Brompton was three degrees below 0, destroyed it; nevertheless, there is no doubt but it will bear the cold of our ordinary winters, and thrive better in the open ground, in a moist situation, than in the stove, or green-house, in either of which, however, it will flower very well; and, where the plant is luxuriant, continue to do so for a considerable length of time, the blossoms being numerous, and unfolding gradually: in a strong plant at Mr. Colvill’s, Nurseryman, King’s-Road, we counted seven blossoms expanded at one time on its different branches.

“It differs from all other known Iris’s, in having a root perfectly of the creeping kind, sending out shoots to a considerable distance, by which it is rendered very easy of propagation; its flowers, in form and colour, come nearest to those of
Iris cristata, and have a considerable degree of fragrance.”

From “Iris japonica” by Kayoko Miyazawa in Flora Japonica by The Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew:

“Rather unusually among irises, this species spreads by a slender branching rhizome on the surface, forming handsome spreading clumps of dark, glossy foliage. The flowers, which open in late spring, are relatively small but very attractive when examined closely. This is a popular plant in gardens in southern Japan, where it is also common in the wild….

“Iris japonica is also appreciated in Western gardens, where it prefers a rather sheltered position in the sun or light shade in cooler regions. and where it does not always flower freely. Each leaf fan dies off after its flowers finish. A few selected forms have been named, including one with striking white-striped foliage.

“
Iris japonica is just one of many plants first named by Carl Thunberg, the Swedish pioneer of Japanese botany, some years after the publication of his Flora Japonica. It was first introduced into Britain by Thomas Evans in 1812, and the informal group within the genus to which it belongs is called Evansia in his honour, although its formal classification is in the section Lophiris….”

From “The Village Curate” by James Hurdis in The Botanical Magazine, or, Flower-Garden Displayed (Curtis’s Botanical Magazine), Volume 11, 1797, cover page:

Not a tree,
A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains
A folio volume. We may read and read,
And read again, and still find something new
Something to please, and something to instruct.


Hello!

This is the second of two posts with photographs of Iris japonica from Oakland Cemetery, that I took at the end of March. The first post — where I wrote about some of the plant’s visual characteristics and described how I banished unattractive background fronds from the images — is Iris japonica (1 of 2) / Notes on Image Reconstruction. In this post, we’ll spend some time taking a look at individual flowers, with close-up and macro photos of one or two blooms per stem that I photographed while sitting on the ground and meshing with the plants, as we take a compressed tour through the plant’s representation in historical botanical drawings.

As I mentioned in the previous post, Iris japonica is known by common names including Japanese Iris, Fringed Iris, Butterfly Flower, and Shaga or Shaga Flower — names reflecting its flowers’ visual appearance or its natural origins in China and Japan. In iris horticulture, it’s classified among crested irises or Lophiris, and passed through a number of scientific names once it migrated to Europe and began to be propagated and observed by eighteenth-century Western botanists. Plants of the World Online lists ten prior scientific names (see Iris japonica synonyms) from 1784 through 1980. The first one from 1784 — Iris squalens — was later discarded since it was already associated with a known plant, and 1797’s Iris chinensis (derived from its Chinese nativity) then took its place as the inaugural scientific name.

The 1797 iris chinensis name leads us to the first known European botanical drawing of the plant we now call Iris japonica, a fine rendition of a specimen where parts of the composition — in this case, the flower itself and the base with roots and rhizomes — are drawn in larger proportions to the rest to show their botanical characteristics. Use of magnification like this — which may have actually involved using a magnifying glass — helped document detailed characteristics of the plants for scientific evaluation and study.

That drawing is from Volume 11 of Curtis’s Botanical Magazine, published in 1797, which is available in scanned form on the Internet Archive, so (lucky for us!) we can see how the magazine published the image originally with a detailed description of the plant on its facing page. The text of that description (transcribed to modern usage by Claude.AI for me) appears as the first excerpt at the top of this post.

A decade later in 1807, famed illustrator Pierre-Joseph Redoute published his own version of Iris japonica, in Volume 3 of his book Les liliacees — a book whose title (“The liliaceae”) reflects the fact that the Lily (Liliaceae) and Iris (Iridaceae) families were less distinct than they are now, and plant membership overlapped. That drawing (on page 152) shows Redoute retaining the plant’s scientific or botanical characteristics in accurate detail without exaggerating the plant’s proportions, thus blending science and art to produce drawings that merged both visual approaches and served botanical experts as well as the general public.

By 1827 when Redoute produced another Iris japonica illustration in his book Choix des plus belles fleurs: et des plus beaux fruits (“A Selection of the Most Beautiful Flowers and the Most Beautiful Fruits”), as Plate 46, he stylized the image further, dropping all but one of the plant’s leaves from it as well as its roots, and eliminating the inset sketches showing other parts of the plant. Alert observers will also notice that despite the twenty-year gap between the two illustrations, the flowers and the single leaf in this second image are identical. They were likely created from the same initial drawings or plates, then altered and cropped to focus the viewer’s interest on the flowers.

The artistic connections to photography, photo editing, and selective image reconstruction (like I described in the previous post) are so obvious I won’t use up more words to explain them. But I thought Redoute’s evolution in the use of color was as interesting as his compositional choices: the 1827 version shows the wider range of colors that Iris japonica flowers can produce. While in both images the color blue appears to dominate when we first look at them, the second image actually contains subtle and transitional blending of blue, purple, and violet tones that reminded me of the red and magenta color exploration I did with Camellia photographs (see Camellia japonica (1 of 2)).

To verify that Redoute’s color interpretation wasn’t my imagination, I imported copies of both of his images into Lightroom and added purple saturation. Here’s how that turned out…

… where you can now more readily see where Redoute added purple tones to the image, tones that aren’t present in the first one (whose colors didn’t change when I saturated purple). We might speculate here that in designing the 1827 image, Redoute knew that the plant’s botanical structure was scientifically accurate (so he reused the 1807 image as the starting point), but had learned about or observed the plant’s ability to produce additional colors, and incorporated them in 1827. Or he may have simply expressed a new style preference by adding purple and violet tones so their softer colors blended better with the alterations he made to the leaf and stem colors. Either way, the second drawing retains the botanical precision of the first one, more accurately demonstrates the color potential of Iris japonica variants, and represents the shift toward enhanced artistic renderings of plants and flowers that was common to nineteenth-century advancements in botanical art — expressed as “something new, something to please, and something to instruct” in the poem I included at the top of this post.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!