Pressed into silence but not into submission. Each petal still whispers of the meadow where it was first plucked. Ranunculus, the humble buttercup in all its variations, gathered by a patient hand and fixed beneath glass as though time itself might be persuaded to linger.
The collection dates from an era when people believed botany was not only a science but a form of romance. Lovers exchanged pressed flowers the way others traded words. Each specimen here tells its story without a syllable, preserving the sudden blush of yellow, the improbable persistence of green.
Not merely a record. A reminder. That beauty may be fleeting, but it can also be kept.
Pressed into silence but not into submission. Each petal still whispers of the meadow where it was first plucked. Ranunculus, the humble buttercup in all its variations, gathered by a patient hand and fixed beneath glass as though time itself might be persuaded to linger.
The collection dates from an era when people believed botany was not only a science but a form of romance. Lovers exchanged pressed flowers the way others traded words. Each specimen here tells its story without a syllable, preserving the sudden blush of yellow, the improbable persistence of green.
Not merely a record. A reminder. That beauty may be fleeting, but it can also be kept.
9.5” x 15.75”
Custom framing upon request, please inquire.
