Rosa Damascena, Pierre-Joseph Redoute

WHEN I think of pink in its loveliness, I don’t think of pink ribbons, pink lemonade, pink planes or the aggressive sentimentality of hot pink Blackberry covers, but of the Rosa Damascena of Pierre-Joseph Redouté, one of history’s great botanical painters. The petals and thorns of this rose, which cannot be conveyed on a screen, are exactly as the most beautiful roses appear in the garden, their heads nodding under the weight of their flamboyant frills. They have a sleepy quality and are reminiscent of the roses in Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Snow Queen,” the flowers that reminded Gerda of her friend Kay. When Gerda cried in sorrow for her friend, her tears fell to the ground and rose bushes sprang up from the moistened earth.

Redouté was born in 1759 in St-Hubert in the Begian Ardennes. His father Joseph worked as a painter and decorator in the local Abbey and came from a long line of craftsmen and artists. The family was not wealthy, but the young Pierre-Joseph was befriended by a monk at the Abbey, who was an avid naturalist and herbalist. He took the boy on walks in the woods and meadows, where they looked for medicinal plants for the Abbey pharmacy. Thus was born a botanical painter.

Redouté would eventually go on to the Versailles and patronage under Marie-Antoinette and, later, Empress Joséphine. Though prints of Redouté works can still be found in elegant homes, there is something intensely rustic about them upon closer examination. The glory and delicacy of the flower and the fruit as they are found in nature were captured with breathtaking verisimilitude by Redouté. I bought a portfolio of Redouté prints at a library book sale last year. I was amazed that they were there for $2. Thank you, Marie-Antoinette.

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