Phytopetal - Flowers in an Ornamental Vase by Maria van Oosterwyck

Flowers in an Ornamental Vase - Maria van Oosterwyck

Flowers in an Ornamental Vase-Maria van Oosterwyck

Last week’s stroll with Rachel Ruysch showed how a bouquet can ignore the calendar with perfect manners—spring elbows summer, autumn smiles politely, and everything holds still for the painter. Maria van Oosterwyck shares the trick and the moral: botanical precision, seasonal sleight‑of‑hand, and a quiet lecture about time. Where Ruysch gives us a virtuoso medley, Van Oosterwyck adds a pointed duet at the top of the score.

Briefly, the person behind the petals: Maria van Oosterwyck (1630–1693) grew up in Nootdorp, a minister’s daughter who never married and devoted herself to work. She painted first in Delft, later in Amsterdam, earned admiration across Europe (Louis XIV among her fans), and—though biographies try to tie her to Jan Davidsz. de Heem—needs no borrowed pedigree. She had the Dutch gift for exactitude and the Calvinist gift for meaning.

Now to the picture at hand: Flowers in an Ornamental Vase (c. 1670–1675). In the real world, these blooms refuse to share a Tuesday; the calendar would mutiny long before the vase was full.

The vase itself sets the stage. Around its belly: goats and grapevines—Bacchus’s calling card for abundance and mildly regrettable evenings. On the lid: a little Venus who appears to be watching the bouquet. At the summit of flowers, a sunflower faces a poppy. You can almost hear the sermon clearing its throat.

Meet The Cast

Helianthus annuus (Sunflower, Family: Asteraceae)

When it blooms: Summer into early autumn.
Why it’s here: A disciplined disc surrounded by rays—geometry made cheerful.
Symbolism: Constancy, devotion, the habit of facing the light (most dramatic in the plant’s youth; the metaphor refuses to age).
Garden note: Likes heat and elbow room. Not an April acquaintance for a Dutch cook.
Historical aside: A New World migrant—recorded in Europe by the 16th century, grown first as a curiosity, then for oil and seed; by Van Oosterwyck’s day it was comfortably at home in European plots.

Papaver somniferum (Opium poppy; Family: Papaveraceae)

When it blooms: Early to midsummer.
Why it’s here: Silk petals, a tidy crown on the seedpod, and a color that looks like it has opinions.
Symbolism: Sleep and oblivion; later, remembrance. The latex made the symbolism uncomfortably literal.
Garden note: Easy from seed; fragile in a vase; brilliant on canvas.
Historical aside: A stalwart of physic gardens since antiquity; widely cultivated in early modern Europe for culinary seed and medicine—its virtues and vices both well known.

Thymus spp.(Thyme; Family: (Lamiaceae)

When it blooms: Late spring–summer.
Why it’s here: A sprig of usefulness—aroma, nectar, tiny mauve confetti.
Symbolism: Humility, courage, domestic virtue.
Garden note: Sun, drainage, and restraint with the watering can. Bees approve.
Historical aside: A Mediterranean herb of long standing—praised by Romans, tucked into monastery plots, and by the 17th century a kitchen inevitability.

Anthriscus sylvestris (Cow parsley; Family: Apiaceae)

When it blooms: Late spring.
Why it’s here: Lace by the handful; the meadow’s soft focus.
Symbolism: Briefness, rural innocence.
Garden note: Lovely on lanes; in beds, use its better‑behaved kin. And do learn your umbellifers—hemlock is the unfun relative.
Historical aside: A familiar verge plant in northern Europe; herbalists of the period cautioned against confusing edible and deadly umbellifers—a taxonomy lesson in a hedgerow.

Delphinium spp., (Larkspur; Family: Ranunculaceae)

When it blooms: Early–midsummer.
Why it’s here: Vertical punctuation; a landing strip for bees.
Symbolism: Levity, open hearts.
Garden note: Stake early, feed well, pretend the slugs are on holiday.
Historical aside: In European gardens since the 1500s; country lore had its seeds pressed into service against lice and to tint inks—a practical streak beneath the blue romance.

Saxifraga × urbium (London pride; Family: Saxifragaceae)

When it blooms: Late spring–summer.
Why it’s here: Tiny stars on wiry stems; thrives where nothing else volunteers.
Symbolism: Persistence, modest resilience.
Garden note: Loves cracks, tolerates neglect, rewards kindness.
Historical aside: Saxifrages were rock‑garden darlings; this hybrid’s later fame came with London’s rubble, but its tough, crevice‑finding kin were already valued in early modern collections.

Aconitum napellus (Monkshood; Family: Ranunculaceae)

When it blooms: Summer–autumn.
Why it’s here: Hooded spires in midnight blue—instant depth.
Symbolism: Danger, mortality; the “night” bench in this moral pageant.
Garden note: Spectacular, poisonous. Gloves on; hands off the soup.
Historical aside: Known since classical times as a poison for arrows and unwary diners; grown in physic and pleasure gardens with respect (and a border between it and the salad).

Dianthus caryophyllus (Carnation; Family: Caryophyllaceae)

When it blooms: Summer, with persistence if deadheaded.
Why it’s here: Frill, fragrance, and good posture.
Symbolism: Betrothal, durable affection.
Garden note: Sun and sharp drainage; cut for scent, spare for vigor.
Historical aside: Cultivated in Europe since the Middle Ages; in Dutch painting it doubles as a wedding token and, in some contexts, a quiet nod to Christ’s Passion.

Narcissus spp. (Daffodil; Family:Amaryllidaceae)

When it blooms: Late winter–spring.
Why it’s here: Trumpets, strap leaves—the stationery of spring.
Symbolism: Renewal (and a polite nod to Narcissus in the mirror).
Calendar note: Its presence beside summer players is your clue the bouquet is a collage.
Historical aside: Catalogued enthusiastically by 16th‑century botanists like Clusius and naturalized in northern gardens; a seasonal celebrity by Van Oosterwyck’s time.

Tagetes spp. or Calendula officinalis (Marigold; Family: Asteraceae)

When it blooms: Summer–autumn.
Why it’s here: Candle‑safe gold, foliage with opinions.
Symbolism: Devotion and grief; Mary’s gold in Europe.
Garden note: Calendula self‑sows; Tagetes deters pests and occasionally neighbors.
Historical aside: Calendula is a medieval medicinal—salves and soups alike; Tagetes arrived from the Americas in the 16th century and quickly found a bed in European plots.

Hibiscus syriacus (Hibiscus, Catalogue name- “Rose of Sharon”; Family: Malvaceae)

When it blooms: Summer.
Why it’s here: Broad, satiny petals; a composed face.
Symbolism: Biblical beauty, gently stated.
Taxonomic note: The name wanders; identifications wander with it. Doubt is historically accurate.
Historical aside: Hibiscus syriacus came west from Asia by the 16th century and was settled in European gardens by the 17th; the biblical nickname stuck to various shrubs along the way.

Conspicuously absent: Tulip (Tulipa). In a country that briefly priced bulbs like townhouses, not inviting tulips feels pointed. Instead of status blooms, we get utility (thyme), hedgerow lace (cow parsley), and the sunflower‑poppy face‑off. It’s an anti‑tulip bouquet—sobriety over fashion—with Bacchus and Venus literally under it, making the case for attention over appetite.

As with Ruysch, these seasons do not coexist in any obedient garden. Painters solved the problem the way gardeners wish they could: with patience, sketches, and arrangement. Time, obligingly, adds its own postscript. Greens in old oil drift toward brown; depth softens; the picture performs its vanitas even as it depicts it. And yet the message reads instantly: day and night share a vase; choose where to look.

Stand back from the labels and it still charms shamelessly—light skating over petals, a reed nudging the bouquet into space, a stem pretending not to pose. Know the plants, and the spell deepens. Spring brushes summer; useful herbs shake hands with dangerous beauties; the Americas nod to Europe across a bronze rim. Impossible, yes—and already passing. Which is the point, carefully arranged and, for our benefit, held still.

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