Flora look inside

FLORA

PREVIOUS PAGE Detail of WMF flower dish, 1900–05, see page 168.

THIS PAGE Detail of Renée Bevan’s Blooming big brooch, 2009, see page 162.

CELEBRATING OUR BOTANICAL WORLD

FLORA EDITORS: CARLOS LEHNEBACH CLAIRE REGNAULT REBECCA RICE ISAAC TE AWA RACHEL YATES

CO NT EN TS Detail of Katherine Smyth’s Fruit, 2014–15, see page 170–71.

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INTRODUCTION

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CAMELLIA, 2010 MORNING HIBISCUS, 1979 HUE, DATE UNKNOWN SPATTERWORK OCCASIONAL TABLE, C.1890 BLOSSOMS OF THE NEW BEGINNING, 2000 & TIVAEVAE MANU, 2004 20 CANTON SHAWL, 1890–1904 22 ROSES, C.1895 23 ALMOND TREE AT PEILLE, 1938 24 WOOL WORK FLOWER DOME, C.1880 25 WOOL WORK FLOWER DOME, 1885 26 MAGNOLIA BLOSSOM, 1925 27 CARRION FLOWERS, ORBEA VARIEGATA, STAPELIA HIRSUTA 28 POROKAIWHIRIA, C.1930 29 ONE ROOT AT A TIME: EMALANI CASE 33 MARLBOROUGH DAISY, 1985 34 INDIGENOUS FLOWERS OF THE HAWAIIAN ISLANDS, 1885 36 FAMILY HISTORY, 2018/2021 & LAST OF THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS, 2018/2021 38 NIGHT HAWK NO. 4. NAUGHTY BOYS, 1982 39 LSA (LYSERGIC ACID AMIDE) FROM MORNING GLORY, 2007 40 PŪ TUTU, C.1913 41 MUSLIN POSY, 1965 42 SHARK, ANGEL, BIRD, SKY, LADDER, 2008 44 LADY OF THE LILIES, 1900 45 FLORAL PICTURE, 1855–60 46 FLORAL CLOCK, CHRISTCHURCH, NZ, C.1970 47 PRIME MINISTER SIDNEY HOLLAND WITH GROUP ON TULIP FARM, 1950s 48 TĪTOKI, 1940–90 49 BEWARE THE BEAST IN THE BEAUTY: COLIN D MEURK 53 54 55 56 57 59 60

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SQUINANCY TREE, C.1945 POI AWE, 1800s KIEKIE AND WHARAWHARA AT WESTOE, 1868 AUTUMN BLOOMS, 1899 GINGER JAR, DATE UNKNOWN RING EYES ON MAKO-MAKO, C.1930 & UNTITLED, C.1930 THE MOTHER, RUE (RUTA SP.), THE WITCH, PENNY ROYAL (MENTHA SP.), THE SIBYL, SAGE (SALVIA SP.) & THE NURSE, OPIUM (PAPAVER SP.), 2020 BLOSSOM, 2008 DESIGN WORKBOOK FOR ‘THE GARDEN OF PERFECT HAPPINESS’, 2008 BOWL, 1882–98 MUKLUKS, 1960–70 NEW ZEALAND ALPINE FLORA STAMPS, 2019 BERLIN WOOL WORK PATTERN, 1830–50 WILD FLOWERS (THINGS THAT GROW), 2019 GERANIUM, NASTURTIUM AND FLAME VINE, 1970s NASTURTIUMS, 1930s BEADED AND SEQUINED SHAWL AND TROUSERS, 2003 T-SHIRT, 2002 STILL LIFE, C.1936

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20 HOBSON STREET, 1980 DOBBIE’S FERNS, 1880 BROOCH, 1880s THE DAISY VERDICT — HE LOVES ME, HE LOVES ME NOT?, 1914 80 ‘A-HOE TRADE ME’ SERIES, 2016 81 WALLPAPER, 1921 82 BROOCH, 1942 83 LEAF CROSS, 1994 84 PORTRAIT OF JULIA FARMER, 1874 85 POTPOURRI VASE, C.1835 86 THE CLERKENWELL FLOWER MAKERS, LONDON, 1896 88 CARRUTHERSIA SCANDENS, 1865–73 89 HIBISCUS STORCKII, 1865–73 90 NEW ZEALAND NATURALISED WILD-FLOWER STAMPS, 1989 91 UROHS EN POHNPEI, 2011 92 BROOCH, 1880–96 93 KUĪNI, 2017 94 SPRING, SUMMER, AUTUMN & WINTER, 1869 96 FORMAL CHEONGSAM, 长衫, 1940s 97 ARUM LILY, ZANTEDESCHIA AETHIOPICA 98 MĀORI WOMAN HOLDING RAUPŌ, 1890–1910 99 MANU TUKUTUKU, 2016 101 NGATU, DATE UNKNOWN 102 MANTLE DRAPE, C.1885 104 COCKTAIL DRESS, 1960 105 TRINKET BOX, 1958–60 106 HARU NO YORU NO ON-ASOBI (ELEGANT AMUSEMENTS ON A SPRING EVENING), 1847–48 108 CLOISONNÉ VASE, C.1900 109 SUNFLOWERS AND PORTRAIT, C.1908 110 SILVER TABLEWARE, C.1890 111 VASE, ‘SECESSIONIST’ WARE, 1912 112 SPIDER ORCHID, C.1950s 113 RANUNCULUS BUCHANANII, C.1865 114 ‘NO MORE HIROSHIMAS’ POSTER, 1990 115 PEACE MARCH, 1967 116 EMBROIDERED ENGLISH COUNTRY COTTAGE GARDEN SCENE, 1920s 117 FOUR BOUQUETS OF FLOWERS, 1947 118 SPRING FLOWERS, 1923 119 IRIS, 1920–40 120 TĀNE MAHUTA, NEW ZEALAND CENTENNIAL STAMP, 1940 121 JS.02.03 ‘THE HEDGE’, 2003 122 BUNGALOW GARDEN, 2011 123 HEADDRESS, C.1985 124 WRITING COMPENDIUM, 1905 125 PARKINSON’S RĀTĀ, METROSIDEROS PARKINSONII 126 EMBROIDERY, 1750–1800 127 DRESS, C.1775 128 COLOBANTHUS ACICULARIS, C.1970 129 THE SENSE OF SMELL, C.1750 130 GORSE BLOSSOM, 1897 131 DRESSES, 1981–82 132 HECTOR’S DAISY, CELMISIA HECTORII 133 ENDEMIC AND UNFUSSY: LEON PERRIE 137 KORIKORI, HAIRY ALPINE BUTTERCUP, RANUNCULUS INSIGNIS 138 ‘INSIDE’ THE GARDEN, 1969

Detail of Lady Jane Cory’s Flora, 1909, see page 149.

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HŪTIA TE RITO O TE HARAKEKE KEI WHEA, TE KŌMAKO E KŌ KĪ MAI KI AHAU? HE AHA TE MEA NUI O TĒNEI AO? MĀKU E KĪ ATU HE TANGATA, HE TANGATA, HE TANGATA. INTRODUCTION CARLOS LEHNEBACH, CLAIRE REGNAULT, REBECCA RICE, ISAAC TE AWA, RACHEL YATES: EDITORS

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PULL OUT THE CENTRAL SHOOT OF THE FLAX, WHERE WILL THE BELLBIRD SING TO ME? WHAT IS THE GREATEST THING IN THE WORLD? IT IS YOU. IT IS PEOPLE, IT IS PEOPLE, IT IS PEOPLE.

The words of this whakataukī, composed by Meri Ngāroto of Te Aupōuri, are deeply layered with meaning. Its nuances speak to the sanctity of human life, and the whakapapa relationships we share with Papatūānuku and all her children within the natural world, including the plants around us. To tangata whenua, true wellness is expressed by the relationships we share with the environment that surrounds us. The connections captured in Ngāroto’s words are reflected through a weaver’s practice and the care of harakeke. A symbol of family, unity and intergenerational connection, the new growths at the centre of a flax plant are likened to children — the shoots are surrounded and protected by parent leaves, which are in turn surrounded by grandparent leaves, forming a cluster like a whānau or family. When the harakeke thrives, so too do the people who care for it, and who weave kete, mats and clothing from its fibres and leaves. When the harakeke blooms, singing birds come to feed on its flowers.

This is the connectedness of all living things.

The bond between plants and humans dates back millions of years. Plants were part of the diet of early human species and prehistoric hunter-gatherer groups. The subsequent domesti­ cation of plant species as agricultural processes developed allowed people to live in permanent settlement and supported both population growth and the rise of many civilisations.

Interest in plants of economic importance, such as cotton, sugar

cane, tea, rubber and vanilla, drove exploration to distant lands.

Plants have also been associated with dark moments in history, from sugar cane to coca (for cocaine) the plants that were economically valuable to western empires have encouraged colonisation, slavery, wars and social harm.

Despite plants being so intertwined with human history and our daily lives, many of us struggle to name, describe, or in fact even notice, the plant species around us, a phenomenon known as plant blindness. Fortunately, this is curable. The cure involves promoting the uniqueness and wonders of the plant world, and creating emotional connections with species, for example, those that mark seasonal events such as the arrival of spring, or important events in our lives such as weddings and periods of mourning. Providing people of all ages with opportunities to observe and explore the plant world is also key. Overall, this cure is about creating awareness and celebrating the role plants have in our lives.

This book is designed to play its part as an antidote. It is a celebration of the relationships between people and plants, revealed through Te Papa’s collections. As an integrated natural and human history museum and art gallery, Te Papa is uniquely placed to reflect the many ways in which people have engaged with, and been inspired by, the botanical world. The taonga showcased in the pages of Flora, from across the Māori, art,

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FL O RA

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CAMELLIA, 2010

Peter Peryer (1941–2018), Aotearoa New Zealand Photograph, inkjet print, 208 × 157 mm O.039495, purchased 2012 Camellia, Camellia sp.

In Gestalt therapy, interpretation of dreams assumes that all dream elements are projections of the dreamer’s psyche. Instead of interpreting a dream as a movie of which you are the spectator, the approach of Gestalt therapy asks you to be in the movie, to be the object or people depicted. And to query of each, ‘How do I feel? What is going on for me?’ Such an approach seems pertinent to many of Peter Peryer’s photographs. Like a child who sees a world comprised of feeling things, he imbues inanimate objects with human character, from a lonely radio mast and a forlorn caravan to a pair of salad servers that read as a couple. So what is going on for this camellia that seems to be straining forward and looking up as though for an answer or approval? Who is going to give that? How does it feel being so tightly compressed into a bud, unable to unfold just yet? And how long will the headwind that apparently pushes on the leaves continue? Who, so obviously just out of frame, can release these anxieties? AM

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MORNING HIBISCUS, 1979 Janet Bayly (1955–), Aotearoa New Zealand Colour photograph, Polaroid SX-70 print, 70 × 78 mm O.003143, purchased 1983 with New Zealand Lottery Grants Board funds Hibiscus, Hibiscus sp.

Janet Bayly’s dreamy photograph Morning hibiscus is a simple domestic scene evoking the ambience of a lazy summer morning. The natural light coming from a window behind the table illuminates the ordinary objects — cut stems of a hibiscus flower placed in a drinking glass of water, a teapot lingering in the background. This celebration of the everyday is also a reminder that time is made of fleeting moments, and it reveals the magical power that photography has to capture such fragments and let us relate them to our own reality. The use of soft focus helps to convey a peaceful mood full of stillness while also echoing earlier photography, such as the works of Baron Adolph de Meyer (1868–1946) and New Zealand photographer Robert Walrond (1859–1932). The Polaroid medium offered Bayly both immediacy and privacy, and as a one-off photograph, without a negative for reproduction, it is a unique object. LM

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HUE, DATE UNKNOWN Unnamed maker, Aotearoa New Zealand 160 × 140 × 160 mm WE000901, bequest of Kenneth Athol Webster, 1971 Hue, gourd, Lagenaria siceraria

Hue, which originate from South America, were brought to Aotearoa by Polynesian settlers as water vessels and food-storage containers, and were also carried as seeds so they could be grown here, although hue are difficult to grow in higher altitudes and in the colder temperatures of the South Island. This small hue is highly decorated in a mangōpare hammerhead shark-patterned kōwhaiwhai on a braided-style background, which appears to have been stained with a black pigment, decoration usually done while a hue is still fresh. A braided muka flax fibre handle has also been attached for ease of carrying. Hue were used for a variety of purposes, including storing preserved foods and holding liquids and also as musical instruments. The purpose of this highly decorated hue is not clear but the hole at the top suggests it was used as a container of some sort. In te ao Māori, the hue belongs to the realm of the god Rongo, who presided over all things relating to peace and agriculture and cultivated foods, such as kūmara, taro and yam. AA

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SPATTERWORK OCCASIONAL TABLE, C.1890 Unnamed maker, Aotearoa New Zealand Kauri, 710 × 610 × 445 mm GH025359, gift of Peter and Sally Herbert, 2018 Kauri, Agathis australis ; various New Zealand ferns

Fern mania swept through high society in Britain and New Zealand in the late nineteenth century. Exotic fern species were grown indoors in wood and glass boxes called Wardian cases, pressed specimens were mounted in elegant albums, and fern motifs were used to decorate fabrics, ceramics and furniture.1 Here, fern specimens have been used as stencils to decorate a kauri occasional table, using a technique known as spatterie or spatterwork. To create the pattern, a light varnish is applied to the surface of the furniture and flora species are applied in a decorative arrangement. A darker polish is sprayed over the top and then the flora is removed, leaving its silhouette. The technique enjoyed a brief period of popularity in latenineteenth-century Britain, but went out of favour relatively quickly because, once damaged, the surfaces were unattractive and hard to repair.2 This is a rare example from New Zealand by an unknown maker. KC

CANTON SHAWL, 1890–1904 Unnamed maker, China Silk, 1600 × 1560 mm PC000838, gift of Mrs J H Millar, 1963 Tree peony, 牡丹花, Paeonia × suffruticosa ; inter alia

Silk and flowers have been expertly cultivated in China for thousands of years, making for a perfect pairing in the rich tradition of Chinese embroidery. The large blooms on this shawl are peonies, a favourite in Chinese art, offset by smaller flowers — perhaps plum blossoms and orchids. Such shawls were produced for international buyers, capitalising on the fine reputation of silk goods at a time when China was difficult for foreigners to access. The production, trade and appetite for these shawls in the nineteenth century linked the port of Canton with Macau, Spain, South America and the Philippines (where they became known as Manila shawls). This one was brought to New Zealand from Scotland by Euphemia Duncan Boyd (1872–1963), when she immigrated to marry her cousin, Henry Cornfoot, in 1904. It features several signature techniques found in Chinese embroidery, such as voiding and intricate tonal shading — noticeable in the range of purples, blues and greens used in the narrow, curling leaves. EN

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WOOL WORK FLOWER DOME, C.1880 Frances Rolfes (née Gardner, 1864–1930), Aotearoa New Zealand Wool, silk, wire, wax, paint and glass, 630 × 310 mm GH002675, gift of Miss Phyllis A Rolfes, 1966 Bleeding hearts, rose, wattle, inter alia

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WOOL WORK FLOWER DOME, 1885 Mary Tyer (1870–1955), Aotearoa New Zealand Wool, silk, wire, wax, paint and glass, 540 × 300 mm PC000268, bequeathed by Mrs Mary H Quin, 1956 Fuchsia, passionflower, inter alia

Everlasting floral bouquets fashioned from shells, feathers, paper or wool were a popular form of women’s craft work throughout the 1860s–1890s.

These two bouquets were made from wool and wire, one by Frances Gardner of Whanganui (left) and the other by Mary Tyer of Te Whanganui-aTara Wellington, in the 1880s. Magazines such as Godey’s Lady’s Book published articles on how to crochet and knit specific types of flowers — the needle-worker assuming ‘the role of an amateur botanist as she read how to form stamens, pistils, calyxes, and tendrils’.4 Gardner primarily created her flowers by wrapping wool around wire frames, bent to the shape of various flowers, securing the yarn with thread. Her bouquet includes roses, lilies, morning glory, fuchsia, passionflowers, pansies and a trail of bleeding hearts. Tyer used a range of techniques and yarns in her bouquet, including chenille, adding touches of dye in places for colour. She has crafted the petals of her exquisite passionflowers from wool, the distinctive corona filaments from finely cut, hand-painted paper and the pistil from coloured wax. Tyer’s dome was one of several examples of needle work entered by the fifteen-year-old into the 1885 New Zealand Industrial Exhibition. While admiring the ‘versality of Miss Tyer’s industry’, one critic opined that ‘flowers made of wool are never artistic, however well made’.5 CR

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POROKAIWHIRIA, C.1930 William C Davies (1873–1952), Aotearoa New Zealand Photograph, gelatin silver print, 152 × 110 mm O.041716 Porokaiwhiria, pigeonwood, Hedycarya arborea

The porokaiwhiria is a common tree in coastal and lowland forest in Te Ika-a-Māui North Island and warmer parts of Te Waipounamu South Island. In this photograph, taken as an identification guide by William Davies, who worked as curator and photographer for Nelson’s Cawthron Institute, the intention is scientific as well as artistic. The branch of the porokaiwhiria tree is staged to show a close-up of the underside of the leaves and the dangling flowers: details botanists can use to distinguish plants in a more precise way than just general appearance. Davies used daylight to photograph plants against a black background in a studio set-up, a technique that made his plants look more hyper-real than natural; like rubbery sculptural objects in depthless space. AM

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ONE ROOT AT A TIME EMALANI CASE

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Our stories with plants are both old and new; they are both established and constantly being created. When my son was born, I recalled the old stories that connected him to the natural world, the stories that spoke of our flora as family. At the same time, I thought about the new stories we would create together as we acted upon our connections to plants and deepened them one root at a time. One of those stories involved the burying of his placenta, a custom that is both old and constantly made new as we continue to practise it both for reasons well understood and those still evolving.

Genealogically, my son is both Kānaka Maoli (Hawaiian) and Māori (Ngāti Hauā, Ngāti Tamaterā). When he was born, my partner and I put his ʻiewe, his whenua, his placenta, into a clay pot that we had made together. Weeks before his birth, we shaped the vessel that would hold his ʻiewe when it was returned to the ēwe, the roots; the vessel that would hold his whenua when it was returned to the whenua, the land. When the time was right, we took the clay pot and our son’s placenta back to the land to be buried beneath a tree, a practice to tie him both to the whenua and to the tree itself, from the roots crawling underground to the branches spreading high above it.

In Hawaiʻi, the word for placenta, ʻiewe, is tied to the word ēwe, meaning sprout or rootlet, lineage or kin. We have a proverb, ‘E kolo ana nō ke ēwe i ke ēwe.’ ‘The root will creep towards the root.’1 In other words, family will seek family, kin will find kin, and when they do, the hope is that they will love each other and nourish each other underground. This saying teaches us that we are connected to the earth as family and that our roots do and will continue to crawl and grow with the flora around us. It also reminds us that our plants are not just important for how they might be used.

They are also significant because, like the ʻiewe that will find and crawl towards the ēwe, our pasts, presents and futures are intertwined.

Here in Aotearoa, the word for placenta is the same for land: whenua. As my partner explained to me, when we bury the whenua, we are securing a child’s relationship to the land. We are grounding him to place, and in doing so, we are also grounding him in his responsibility to place. Because my son was born here in Aotearoa, and because his placenta was to be buried in his father’s whenua in Matamata, I wanted to select a tree that would allow his connections and his search for roots to run as deep as they could go wide, both into the earth and across oceans.

The practice of burying the placenta with a tree, as the proverb above teaches us, ensures that children will be able to grow into a complex network of roots, creeping and crawling in the dark, damp soil. It ensures that children will be able to find their way back to ancestors and ancestry, and it ensures that those ancestors will be given new life through them, because of them, and with them at their sides.

As we searched for his tree, I was conscious of the fact that I was not simply choosing one that represented Aotearoa, but rather one that could also represent Hawaiʻi.

As my partner and I contemplated a number of trees, we came across an akeake (Dodonaea viscosa, see page 34). The akeake is what we call ʻaʻaliʻi in Hawaiʻi. It is a tree or shrub known for its strength and resilience. As another proverb teaches us, ‘He ʻaʻaliʻi kū makani mai au, ʻaʻohe makani nāna e kūlaʻi’. ‘The ʻaʻaliʻi is strong’. Though the wind might blow and make the tree twist and turn, the proverb teaches us that nothing can knock it down.

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MARLBOROUGH DAISY, 1985 Peter Peryer (1941–2018), Aotearoa New Zealand Photograph, gelatin silver print, 341 × 337 mm O.048428, purchased 2019 Marlborough rock daisy, Pachystegia insignis

Peter Peryer’s photograph looks nothing like the many images of the hardy native Marlborough rock daisy to be found online, even allowing for these all being in colour. A major point of departure is the heroic, low-angle approach favoured by early Soviet and German modernist photographers of the 1920s and 1930s, and absorbed into general photographic practice as waist-level cameras became popular in the following decades. Peryer had such a camera himself, and a hint of a hillside ridgeline near the top of the image suggests that he shot from well below eye level. The low angle also picks up the sun gleaming on the leaves, giving them a palpable form missing in other photographs of the plant. This allows him to find an imprecise but energetic rhythm to the leathery leaves as they angle left and right, like marching soldiers.

This too takes us back to modernist German photography: Bauhaus and design-in-nature work by figures like Albert Renger-Patzsch (1897–1966). AM

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INDIGENOUS FLOWERS OF THE HAWAIIAN ISLANDS, 1885 Plates 4, 22, 6, 5, 23, 32, 30, 39. From Indigenous Flowers of the Hawaiian Islands (1885), London Isabella Sinclair (1842–1900), Scotland/Hawai‘i Chromolithographs, 277 × 362 mm Clockwise from top left: RB001450/004a, RB001450/022a, RB001450/006a, RB001450/005a, RB001450/023a, RB001450/032a, RB001450/030a, RB001450/039a Pioi, Smilax melastomifolia ; ‘ōhai, Sesbania tomentosa ; puakauhi, Canavalia ensiformis ; nuku ‘i’iwi, Strongylodon lucidus ; mao, Gossypium tomentosum ; naupaka, Scaevola taccada ; nohu, Tribulus cistoides ; ‘a‘ali’i, Dodonaea viscosa

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After the Scottish-born Isabella Sinclair (née McHutcheson) settled in Makaweli, Kauai, Hawai‘i with her husband in 1866, she explored her surrounding islands, collecting specimens and painting the flowers she found. Encouraged to publish, she visited London in 1884 to oversee the printing of the first ever book with colour pictures of Hawai‘i’s flowering plants. Sinclair learned the vernacular names of plants from indigenous Hawaiians, attempting to understand their stories, medicinal properties and uses, both functional and aesthetic. Indeed, the book is dedicated to ‘The Hawaiian chiefs and people, who have been my most appreciative friends and most lenient critics’. She was aware of the intense love Hawaiian people have for their natural environment, often reflected in the indigenous names of the flowers, which refer to origin stories of tragic, unrequited or undying love. For example, the naupaka shrub (Scaevola taccada, plate 32) is named for Naupaka, a Hawaiian princess who fell in love with Kaui, a commoner. As their love was forbidden by tradition, they eventually accepted their fate and as they embraced for the last time, Naupaka tore a flower in half and gave one half to Kaui. The flower’s unusual halved appearance is said to reflect the sadness felt by the plant when it saw the two lovers separate forever. Sinclair admitted that her selection of forty-four plants was small in relation to the estimated four hundred varieties supposed to exist, but notes in her introduction to the book that ‘this enumeration was made some years ago, and it is probab[le] that many plants have become extinct since then’. She also wrote about the impact of colonisation on the natural environment, fearing, for example, that kokio-keokeo white hibiscus was ‘doomed to early extinction’. RR/AS

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NIGHT HAWK NO. 4.

NAUGHTY BOYS, 1982 Anne Noble (1954–), Aotearoa New Zealand Photograph, gelatin silver print, 152 × 150 mm O.002985, purchased 1982 with New Zealand Lottery Grants Board funds Naughty boys, Anthurium sp.

This photograph comes from Anne Noble’s ‘Night hawk’ group of images centred around the subjects of sex and desire. The titular photograph depicts a man’s penis surrounded by eight or so feathers. Here there is a suggestive parallel, with each stalk, known as the spadix, surrounded by a shield-like spathe, a form of leaf. The colour of this spathe has symbolic associations: red flowers are said to be suitable for Valentine’s Day, since they suggest love, romance and lust, and white for weddings as the colour speaks of purity and innocence.

Their heart-like shape is also supposed to represent love and hospitality. The actual flowers are tiny and are situated along the spadix. They are hermaphrodite, with both male and female reproductive parts, making the plant’s common name of naughty boys a slight misnomer. AM

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LSA (LYSERGIC ACID AMIDE) FROM MORNING GLORY, 2007 From the series ‘LA botanical’ Joyce Campbell (1971–), Aotearoa New Zealand Photograph, gelatin silver print, 347 × 347 mm O.042755, purchased 2014 Morning glory, Ipomoea spp.

The seeds of morning glory (Ipomoea spp.) contain LSA, a psychoactive substance that has similar but less powerful effects to the chemically related LSD. These are accompanied by nausea, cramps and vomiting, but that didn’t prevent pre-Columbian peoples of Mesoamerica using the plant for its mind-altering properties. Joyce Campbell photographed the morning glory as part of a series on plants growing in the Los Angeles area with documented uses as food, medicine, stimulant, entheogen, cosmetic, fuel or building material. Her aim was to reflect the many cultures that had come to the area — that had used plants already growing there or brought new ones with them — creating a historical-cultural map via plants. Campbell used nineteenth-century ambrotype and tintype photographic processes; sometimes, as here, she then copied these to make conventional silver gelatin prints. The result, with its greyed tonal range and detail-less shadows, seems to locate the plant in the past of the antique processes, giving it an eerie presence that suggests its potential power over the mind. AM

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PŪ TUTU, C.1913 Unnamed maker, Aotearoa New Zealand Harakeke, 310 × 320 mm ME003138 Harakeke, flax, Phormium tenax

Pū tutu are specialised strainers for the extraction of juice from the tutu berry (Coriaria spp.), an extremely toxic and poisonous black berry that grows in long bunches, found along forest margins and in scrub areas throughout Aotearoa (see p. 321). Despite the small black fruit being poisonous to both humans and animals, Māori used its juice in drinks, as a sweetener for foods and for medicinal purposes to treat wounds, as a poultice, to treat headaches and ease aching muscles. In order to extract the juice, the berries were most likely bruised then placed into a strainer like this one so that the juice could be collected safely. This particular pū tutu is made from tightly woven harakeke (Phormium tenax) and was made in the Wairarapa possibly at Papawai, the rohe of Ngāti Kahunungu ki Wairarapa. AA

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MUSLIN POSY, 1965 Frank Hofmann (1916–1989), Czechoslovakia/Aotearoa New Zealand Photograph, 35 mm colour transparency CT.065381, gift of the Frank Hofmann Estate, 2016 Unidentified flowers and ferns

Imagine dozing on a bed or couch, a breeze from an open window lazily breathing the curtain back and forth. As you drift between daydream and wakefulness, the vase of flowers and fern fronds alternates between image and substance. As the sun shines on the net curtain, in one moment it looks like a halffinished painting or needlepoint work on fabric, the white threads catching the light, reducing its transparency and visually layering it over the vase behind. In another, the sun is shaded and we see through the mesh to the solid reality on the windowsill. And finally, the shadows are sometimes superimposed over an out-of-focus exterior wall, yielding a third visual element in this unstable play — a plain outline shadow of the vase and its contents on the curtain. In this photograph by émigré modernist photographer Frank Hofmann, the alternating of substance, image and shadow may lead us to a profound insight into the nature of matter. Or entertain us with a simple dreamy pleasure. AM

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SHARK, ANGEL, BIRD, SKY, LADDER, 2008

John Pule (1962–), Niue/Aotearoa New Zealand Oil paint, enamel, ink and polyurethane on two stretched canvases, 2000 × 2000 × 40 mm 2010-0034-1/A-B to B-B, purchased 2010 Ti mata alea, Cordyline fruticosa

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Ti mata alea (Cordyline fruticosa) inflorescences fall tendril-like from emerald clouds that house fantastical creatures, skeletal drawings of birds’ heads and mountains. Hiapo (decorated barkcloth) motifs also appear floating across the canvas. Ti mata alea plants befit this otherworldly cloudscape, for in Niue and other parts of the Pacific they are believed to have supernatural affinities.

One meaning of ti mata alea describes a medium of connection with a spirit; Niueans believe that the first living man was born from a tree of the same

name. In 1902, New Zealand ethnologist Percy Smith recorded that the roots of ti mata alea were cooked and fed to pregnant woman as they were believed to help the unborn child grow. Within this painting, the ti mata alea plant holds a more personal narrative that relates to John Pule’s own migration and the Niuean plants his family brought with them when they established a new home in Aotearoa New Zealand. NT

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TĪTOKI, 1940–90 Nancy Adams (1926–2007), Aotearoa New Zealand Watercolour, 419 × 278 mm CA000888/005/0147, purchased 2007 Tītoki, Alectryon excelsus

This watercolour of tītoki was painted by Nancy Adams, one of New Zealand’s foremost botanists and botanical artists, and was based on a living specimen observed in Day’s Bay in the Wellington region. Tītoki grows in coastal and lowland forests north of Banks Peninsula. The tree was valued by early European settlers for its straight-grained timber, but for Māori its value lay in its small black seeds from which a green-tinted oil was extracted. Known as hinu tītoki, the oil was highly valued and had multiple uses as rongoā for the treatment of wounds and infections, as well as for adornment. Tītoki oil was combined with fragrant plants such as taramea and tarata, or mixed with earth pigments such as red kōkōwai (ochre), and applied to the skin and hair to act as a perfume as well as enhance beauty.11 ITA

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STILL-LIFE, FLOWERS: 1, C.1946 Ida Eise (1891–1978), Aotearoa New Zealand Oil on particle board, 361 × 314 mm 1971-0001-3, purchased 1971 from Wellington City Council Picture Purchase Fund Daisies, Asteraceae

Ida Eise taught still-life painting at the Elam School of Art and Design, in Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland, and painted still-life works throughout her life, including many flower studies.119 She wrote, of her practice: ‘We try to conceive material objects as merely direction of planes in space . . . , & the arrangement of these planes in such a way as to produce an emotion . . . The main thing is to make the painting an active instead of a passive thing.’120 For Eise, making a painting active was about animating the composition with colour and curved line — as with the shapes of the flowers in this painting. Works such as this were well received, with one critic writing, in 1950: ‘Her still life studies in oils . . . are really alive, and tempt one to pick a bunch from the frame.’121 LB

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TAMPON PURSES, 1980s Produced by Carefree, Aotearoa New Zealand/United States of America Plastic, 66 × 63 mm each GH012749-GH012752, gift of Andrea Hill, 2009

These small plastic tampon purses made during the 1980s are emblazoned with colourful floral prints, including daisies. They act like tiny envelopes with enough room to hold three to four tampons. The busy floral patterns cleverly disguise the contents, so the owner can discreetly carry them in a pocket or purse. The use of floral imagery in the marketing of ‘female hygiene products’ is widespread and enduring. Such colourful visual language often surrounds menstrual objects. It both prettifies and distracts the viewer from the purpose of these products, which is to help menstruating people manage their biological cycle of bleeding. SG

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BLOSSOMS OF THE NEW BEGINNING, 2000 & TIVAEVAE MANU, 2004

Vaine Ngaro (dates unknown), Mangaia, Cook Islands; Teetu Kawenga (dates unknown), Cook Islands/Aotearoa New Zealand Cotton; 2530 × 2190 mm, 2710 × 2450 mm FE011604, purchased 2001; FE011918, purchased 2005 Kauti, hibiscus, Hibiscus rosa-sinensis ; riri, lily, Lilium sp.

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Tivaevae or hand-stitched bedspreads are treasured quilts unique to the Cook Islands and sewn by groups of women called vainetini. They are highly valued and made for weddings, twenty-first birthdays, funerals, graduation cele­ brations and other special occasions. The sewing and appliqué skills required are believed to have been introduced to the Islands by the wives of early missionaries. Each tivaevae is different and recognises the makers’ skill in design and pattern and colour arrangement. Tivaevae are known for their vibrant use of colour and their popular floral motifs that represent the natural environment of the Cook Islands. These two examples showcase different styles of tivaevae that present a very floral and festive display. Blossoms of the

new beginning (left) is a tivaevae tataura, or embroidered tivaevae, in which each blossom symbolises the cultural and spiritual ideals of the pange or group of Cook Islands women who made it. It was designed and cut by the president of the Cannons Creek Vainetini Vaine Ngaro, and sewn by her and members of the group: Jasmine Underhill, Greta Daniels, Noo Hosking, Toka Heeney, Ina Makirere, Rua McGloughlin, Tehea Katu, Na Isaia, Teremoana Emile and Urau Pouaru. The tivaevae on the right is a tivaevae manu or appliquéd tivaevae. Its flower pattern is a lily or riri pattern, beautifully edged in white embroidery cotton and stitched onto an olive-green double bed sheet

by Teetu Kawenga of Tokoroa. GH

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BEWARE THE BEAST IN THE BEAUTY COLIN D MEURK ONZM

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Humans love to move around the planet with their (plant) baggage and acquired mementoes, out of nostalgia and for novelty, portable beauty, ‘improvement’ — turning perceived ‘wastelands’ into orderly usefulness resembling their former homes — and/or profit.

Through the centuries, explorers, natural historians, colonisers and settlers have been at the forefront of these exchanges, supplying museums, seed banks and archives around the world with legacy collections, records and archaeological or palynological evidence of first encounters with new floras. Pacific voyagers introduced kūmara, taro and paper mulberry to Aotearoa New Zealand. Early European expeditions, including James Cook’s to Aotearoa, uplifted specimens, plants and seeds for herbaria and exotic horti­culture, and return visits were frequently accompanied by deliberate introductions, for the above reasons, often without understanding the recipient ecology and the unintended consequences. There were also, inevitably, hitchhikers, such as seeds in potted soil or as contaminants in pasture and garden mixes.

These exchanges are not value-free — the devil is often in the detail. Aotearoa New Zealand is a mere detail at the planetary scale yet punches above its weight in its contribution to global biodiversity. We are more than an island; rather we are a micro-continent with a long history that stretches back over sixty million years to Gondwana, with unique, ancient, isolated flora and fauna, some ancestral to modern forms, supplemented by many more recent natural arrivals — parachuted or rafted here from other southern continents — and then, in the last blink of an eye, when people burst on to the stage carrying seeds deliberately or accidentally.

When we overwhelm a ‘new’ land with baggage from an ‘old country’, and when subsequent generations grow up surrounded by a transplanted biology, the sense of what is ‘natural’ is coloured by the ‘extinction of experience’. There is a loss of connection with the unique contribution that the endemic species of the new land makes to the world. Out of sight becomes out of mind, and with it goes an identi­ fication with, connection to and a conservation ethic for our special nature. When that relation­ship is lost, the extinction of visibility can lead to the extinction of species.

New Zealand’s oceanic species can survive in only a few continental coastal places in the world: California, south-eastern Australia, South Africa, South America, the Atlantic islands, Hawai‘i and the southern maritime parts of the British Isles, where they have often been enthusiastically embraced. Tī kōuka, the hardy cabbage tree (Cordyline australis), its fallen leaves so loathed here by fastidious lawn-mowing urbanites, is revered in Cornwall as a palm lookalike (not that it is a palm) that will grow in southern England and Ireland. After it was introduced there in the late nineteenth century it became a status symbol of exotica, embedded in fashionable gardens as the Torquay palm. Tī kōuka, harakeke New Zealand flax and other New Zealand trees and shrubs can often be found lurking in the backgrounds of British movie sets and there are over five hundred hybrid/cultivars of hebe in British plant catalogues.

At the same time here, as the early land-owning settlers were busy planting oaks and elms, some could also see that desirable ‘exotic’ flavour in native trees such as tī kōuka and horoeka lancewood, incorporating them in their new architectural settings; Riccarton House and the old Provincial Council Chambers in Christchurch come to mind. Tī kōuka’s silhouette against a blood-red nor-west sunset sky is so Canterbury.

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Many of the estimated 300,000 flowering plant species in the world are concen­ trated in tropical rain forests; Aotearoa hosts 2500 indigenes while our perfect conditions for horticulture have led to the introduction of 30,000 exotic plant species.

Useful native species such as harakeke and karaka have also been moved around the country. In post-colonial times, houhere, houpara, karo, kauri, kākā beak, akiraho, pōhutukawa and rengarenga, among others, have all been moved beyond their original locations and several have proved highly vigorous individually or as hybrids with the local related stock.

The tsunami of post-colonial ‘baggage’ from all over the world has both embellished and threatened the integrity of our land. The iNaturalist NZ project that lists pest plants of New Zealand documents a staggering 1200 plant species identified by field observers as ‘weedy’.1 At least two hundred of them would be regarded as environ­ mentally damaging by any measure.

Some of these exotic species are very clever — and they are gaming us. The Euro­ pean male fern, for example, has figured out that most people think all ferns are natives: they proliferate in the garden, we split and divest them to neighbours, garage sales and school fairs, from whence they spread further. Tourist agencies advertise destination New Zealand by promoting selfies with colourful lupins in front of a distant Aoraki Mount Cook, despite the damage caused to our braided rivers (see page 265).

Perhaps we should instead market our starkly beautiful speargrass tūmatakuru (did you know it fixes nitrogen and hosts a fly that naturally parasitises grass grub?) and our architectural, divaricating, ‘inside-out’ shrubs of diverse form, colour, pattern and texture — home to butterflies and lizards.

We imported conventional hedge species — gorse, hawthorn, barberry, boxthorn and blackberry — to neatly define the new order of farmed paddocks, but most are now invasive, and prickly to boot. Many of the worst weeds are garden, farm or forestry escapees and are from all the continents: European holly, ivy, sycamore and yew; Asian honeysuckle and fatsia; African agapanthus, veldt grass, scarlet river lily and boxthorn; American Russel lupin, Chilean rhubarb, tradescantia, maytens and pampas; and Australian brush wattle.

Why does it matter? We are stuck now in the midst of the sixth Great Extinction. In a sense, the planet doesn’t care — it will carry on regardless. The earliest settlers believed they were doing a good thing when they spread useful and beautiful species but we care differently now because we have transcendent values of place and terroir.

Knowledge, wisdom, and kaitiakitanga increases over time and through familiarity with the ‘new’ environment. We read about the process of repatriating treasured artefacts or taonga to their places and peoples of origin, which owe their special and spiritual resonance to their environmental, biogeographic and cultural context. The same is true of our natural heritage. More than a century ago, New Zealand’s earliest professional ecologist, Leonard Cockayne, was already pessimistic about the loss of our local flora and proposed that the grounds of every school should feature native plants so all children would grow up with a knowledge of their natural heritage. One might say this was a mātauranga moment for the settlers.

Our identity is ultimately connected to the characteristics of our place. Species richness, or the number of species regardless of origin, is not a substitute for bio­ diversity (a place’s genetic contribution to global diversity) for which we have unique responsibility. Imagine that all our indigenous plant species were replaced with the

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exotics: species richness will have increased by 27,500 but global biodiversity will have diminished by 2500 (even non-endemics have localised genetics). Of course, species richness per se is associated with enhanced ecological function. It is worthwhile, provided we do no harm.

We have a duty then to negotiate the swings and roundabouts of plant diversity and define the good, the bad and the ugly of the exotic flora. Good/beneficial plants are those that provide us with food, medicine, fibre, ecosystem services, bees and amenity, and don’t proliferate, thereby displacing the indigenous. Bad/indifferent/ tolerable co-existers are background garden weeds and lawn clovers, grasses, daisies, yarrow and plantains that with continual mowing/disturbance can live alongside our native pennyworts, oxalis, lobelia, cotulas, cudweeds, dichondras, sedges and fine grasses.

Ugly/Invasive plants are the approximately two hundred self-propagating alien plants that will not only displace indigenous species but also dominate whole land­ scapes — dunes, riverbeds, wetlands, mountains and high country.

Technically, all exotic species are problematic — they take space from the indigenous.

I sympathise with biogeographer Len Gillman’s ‘calling time on alien plantscapes’, but pragmatically, we will have to learn to live with and benefit from the good and benign while coming down hard on the truly ugly — some of which are also beautiful.

There is, for example, increasing interest in regenerative agro-forestry, using (exotic) legumes rather than nitrogen fertiliser, and sterile hybrids for timber such as Leyland cypress. But we can also use more long-rotation indigenous timber trees such as kauri and podocarps, which provide key food for native wildlife, require no treatment, reinforce sense of place, and invite us to slow down and ‘think like a mataī’. We may welcome pasture clovers but beware the lotus racing into our wetlands. Our insideout shrubs, further, encourage us to contemplate the intricacies and subtle patterns of life, slowly unfolding growth, succession, place-making, cultural connection then guardianship, which are invited by our unique flora.

Globalisation inevitably results in the attrition of local biodiversity and character.

We potentially lose the value in what was a more modest, reflective, laid-back, even meditative approach to the world embodied in ancient and indigenous cultures, and the perhaps romanticised ‘kiwi’ temperament. In my socio-botanical view, the mataī and the exquisite tiny flower of our procumbent fuchsia personify this quality. Both immigrant plants and peoples should come to appreciate and work within the unique qualities of their new home, but this implies that we have figured out who we are, what we stand for and what makes our place special. We need to be careful what we wish for while we continue to work that out.

In the meantime, enjoy the good, tolerate the merely naughty and urgently draw a line under the truly ugly, while rejoicing in the many values our unique native flora brings to our place — not least being identity, meaning, purpose, ecological literacy and stewardship or kaitiakitanga.

1

iNaturalist NZ — Mātaki Taiao, www.inaturalist.nz

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SQUINANCY TREE, C.1945 A Lois White (1903–1984), Aotearoa New Zealand Pencil and watercolour, 303 × 210 mm 1995-0020-53, gift of Hans and Martha Lachmann, 1995 Invented species

This watercolour was probably inspired by Alfred Edgar Coppard’s short story ‘The Princess of Kingdom Gone’, in which a princess bathes daily in a pool of water under a ‘squinancy tree’ (which appears to be an invention of the author).12 One day the princess finds the pool full of flowers. She walks up the river until she comes to ‘a tall tree shining with crimson blooms’.13 The princess falls in love with a man who lives in a house by the tree — as if the flowers have brought them together. In the 1930s and 1940s, A Lois White painted a number of works that show women in communion with nature. These paintings are often mythical or allegorical. They are also full of pleasure in women’s bodies, and in women’s sexuality. LB

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RING EYES ON MAKO-MAKO, C.1930 & UNTITLED, C.1930 Fanny Eva Richardson (1872–1954), Aotearoa New Zealand Pencil and watercolour; 268 × 228 mm, 201 × 178 mm 1992-0035-2362/66, 1992-0035-2362/29, bequest of the artist, 1954 Makomako, wineberry, Aristotelia serrata ; Various native wild berries

According to a newspaper columnist writing under the pseudonym ‘Whispers of Eve’ in 1928, Fanny Richardson was ‘never happier than when clad in battle array of tramping-shoes, tweeds and an old hat which won’t mind the assaults of blackberry and bushlawyer vines’, exploring and making studies of the flora and fauna of her local environment in Whanganui-a-Tara Wellington, and beyond.18 She exhibited the paintings that resulted from these expeditions and also used them to illustrate talks she gave to community groups. Her paintings often included more than one species, such as the untitled watercolour on the right, which pictures at least five different berries. Richardson was a great advocate for the preservation of our wildlife. At a Wellington meeting of the Women’s Social Progress Movement in 1935, for example, she urged her listeners to plant native trees, ‘thus providing the birds with food, for with the destruction of the bush our birds were likely to starve’.19 Ring eyes on mako-mako illustrates the interdependency of our birds and plants, as the two tauhou silvereyes balance on the makomako branches, drinking nectar from the flowers. In keeping with the requirements of botanical drawing, Richardson paints both the flowers and the berries, and shows us the pink flush on the underside of heart-shaped, toothed leaves. RR

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THE MOTHER, RUE (RUTA SP.) THE WITCH, PENNY ROYAL (MENTHA SP.) THE SIBYL, SAGE (SALVIA SP.) THE NURSE, OPIUM (PAPAVER SP.), 2020

From the ‘jane says’ series Ann Shelton (1967–), Aotearoa New Zealand Photographs, inkjet prints, 1120 × 837 mm each TMP042121, TMP042124, TMP042123, TMP042122, purchased 2022

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Trauma, hidden or suppressed histories, and the position of women within these have been persistent themes in Ann Shelton’s work. In her ‘jane says’ series of ikebana-like arrangements, she is interested in narrating plants in terms of women’s stories that are today less well-known; in particular, their use in the control of fertility, during childbirth and in the practice of abortion. In these examples, The mother refers to a Lithuanian tradition in which mothers gave their daughters the herb rue on their wedding nights to use as a contraceptive.

The sybil invokes the early female naturalist Maria Sibylla Merian (1647–1717), who was named after a Greek sybil, prophetess or oracle. It includes sage, which is a very mild emmenagogue, a substance that stimulates menstruation (and can act as an abortifacient when taken in larger doses). Pennyroyal, in The witch, has much stronger and more toxic properties and a history dating back to Roman times. And The nurse includes poppies; opium — which relaxes — was often among the ingredients in abortion-inducing concoctions. AM

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LILY OF THE VALLEY TEXTILE DESIGN, C.1935 PR George (dates unknown), France Gouache on paper, 238 × 155 mm GH009615, purchased 2001 Lily of the valley, Convallaria majalis

Dresses cut on the bias were all the rage in the 1930s.

The body-hugging style involved complex piecing and diagonal seaming and worked best in either plain fabrics or those featuring small-scale patterns free of obvious directions or repeats, such as this lily of the valley (Convallaria majalis) design by PR George for the French manufacturer BianchiniFérier.135 One of several colourways on a fashionable black ground, it would have been printed on a light­ ­weight fabric such as crepe de chine, georgette, chiffon or voile, which lent itself to draping, ruching and frills for the perfect garden-party frock. By the 1950s the lily of the valley had become synony­ mous with the French couturier Christian Dior. He produced an entire collection inspired by the flower and stitched a stem into the seams of his dresses for good luck. CR

PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG SAMOAN WOMAN, 1890–1910 Thomas Andrew (1855–1939), Aotearoa New Zealand/Sāmoa Photograph, albumen print, 201 × 140 mm O.005766 ‘Ava, kava, Piper methysticum

This image is a classic example of the commercially oriented portraits Thomas Andrew took of tama‘ita‘i Samoan women at the turn of the twentieth century, and reflects the exotic tone of popular imagery produced for the tourist market.136 In more recent times, this photograph and others of this era have circulated widely on social media as researchers and Samoan com­munities attempt to name and identify the people and features they depict. This young woman is, as yet, unnamed. Her photograph reveals a small yet unique window into the adorn­ ment of this period. No records identify the seedlike ‘ula or necklace she is wearing, although given its size and texture, it is possibly made with pu‘a (Hernandia sonora),137 or small discs cut from the shell of the coconut (Cocos nucifera). She is wrapped in ‘ava, kava stems and leaves, hinting at the plant’s use and importance in Sāmoa. Its roots are dried and mixed with water to create the chiefly drink consumed within the custom of an ‘ava ceremony.

A tama‘ita‘i is usually responsible for the preparation of ‘ava before it is served, and she plays a critical role in the process. RY

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WOMAN’S CAPE, 1900–20 Unnamed maker, India Cashmere, silk and cotton, 1100 × 1760 mm GH015839, purchased 2007 Carnations, iris, inter alia

While travelling in India in the 1920s, Valerie Muirson’s father purchased this spectacular cashmere cape featuring Arabic-style carnations and irises as a gift for his wife. In the late nineteenth century, Kashmiri shawls were often remodelled into capes and other items of clothing as fashions changed in the West. The all-over embroidered pattern on this cape, however, corre­ sponds to the shape of the garment, indicating that the embroi­dery was specifically designed for it. Renowned for their intricately patterned woven shawls, Kashmiri shawl makers began introducing ‘amli’ or needle-worked shawls into their repertoire as they were quicker and cheaper to produce.163 Unlike elsewhere in India, these embroidered shawls were stitched by men. The pattern would have been ‘pounced’ or block-printed into the cloth to guide the embroiderer. CR

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CLOVER, 1946 Ernest Mervyn Taylor (1906–1964), Aotearoa New Zealand Wood engraving on paper, 128 × 103 mm 1950-0015-7, gift of the New Zealand Academy of Fine Arts, 1950 Clover, Trifolium sp.; plantain, Plantago sp.

Looking at this small print is like looking closely into a cluster of clover when you’re lying on the grass.

Threaded with grass blades, the tiny world is painstakingly engraved onto a wooden block, with different lines, black ink and white paper the only tools used to suggest the texture, weight and gloss of each individual leaf or seed. Ernest Mervyn Taylor was a prolific talent who produced books, prints, paintings, sculptures and murals from his house in Te Whanganui-a-Tara Wellington. Taylor wanted to make his work widely accessible, including to children. Engravings such as this were an ideal medium: cheaper than paintings, they were printed in multiples that could be widely distributed. Like much of Taylor’s work, this print asks you to pay attention to the wonders in the world around you. LB

FLORA: CELEBRATING OUR BOTANICAL WORLD RRP: $80 ISBN: 978-1-99-115091-2 PUBLISHED: November 2023 PAGE EXTENT: 452 pages FORMAT: Hardback SIZE: 290 x 250 mm

FOR MORE INFORMATION OR TO ORDER https://www.tepapa.govt.nz/about/te-papa-press/contact-te-papa-press

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FL O RA Flora: Celebrating our botanical world mines Te Papa’s collections to explore the way we think about our botanical world and its cultural imprint. A true treasure, it features over 500 selections by a crossdisciplinary museum curatorial team that range from botanical specimens and art to furniture, jewellery, weaving, taonga Māori, Pacific arts and more. Its twelve essays delve into the world of plants that sustains us, inspires us, and cloaks and protects our planet.

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‘IT IS OUR AMBITION THAT READERS WILL FEEL A SENSE OF MĪHARO, WONDER, FOR PLANTS AND FLOWERS IN ALL THEIR REPRESENTATIONS AND MANIFESTATIONS. WE NEED THEM. THEY ARE OUR FUTURE.’

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