Vintage Swedish Herbarium - Geranium Blood Cranesbill, circa 1962
Bloody cranesbill, they called it. Though there was never anything violent about it. No, this one belonged to sunlit hillsides and weathered stone fences, where it grew wild and stubborn—charmingly so.
Collected by someone with an eye for the quiet things. The kind of person who knew that not every flower is meant for bouquets or ballrooms. Some were made for wandering, for catching light just right on a June afternoon and turning it into something worth remembering.
Delicate now, pressed flat against the page, but don’t be fooled—sanguineum has always been tougher than it looks.
Summer’s wild heart, preserved.
Bloody cranesbill, they called it. Though there was never anything violent about it. No, this one belonged to sunlit hillsides and weathered stone fences, where it grew wild and stubborn—charmingly so.
Collected by someone with an eye for the quiet things. The kind of person who knew that not every flower is meant for bouquets or ballrooms. Some were made for wandering, for catching light just right on a June afternoon and turning it into something worth remembering.
Delicate now, pressed flat against the page, but don’t be fooled—sanguineum has always been tougher than it looks.
Summer’s wild heart, preserved.
Bloody cranesbill, they called it. Though there was never anything violent about it. No, this one belonged to sunlit hillsides and weathered stone fences, where it grew wild and stubborn—charmingly so.
Collected by someone with an eye for the quiet things. The kind of person who knew that not every flower is meant for bouquets or ballrooms. Some were made for wandering, for catching light just right on a June afternoon and turning it into something worth remembering.
Delicate now, pressed flat against the page, but don’t be fooled—sanguineum has always been tougher than it looks.
Summer’s wild heart, preserved.
9.5” x 15.75”
Custom framing available upon request, please inquire.