The last post discussed how herbarium sheets are sometimes collages with illustrations of different kinds attached along with the plant material. There was an interesting case in Taxon recently of an illustration used to identify a type specimen (Fleischmann and Gonella, 2020). The species in question is Drosera intermedia, an insectivorous plant found from eastern North America, through the Caribbean to tropic South America. As with many plants, particularly those with a relatively long botanical history, nailing down the first publication of a name and the type specimen can be complicated. The authors here wade through the literature and cite a 1798 publication by Johann Dreves and Friedrich Hayne, though a 1800 publication by Hayne is usually given. Why I find this case interesting is that Fleischmann and Gonella argue that a specimen in the Munich herbarium is the lectotype because it so closely resembles the illustration of the plant in the 1798 publication. It is known that Haynes himself did the drawing on which it is based.
This seems relatively straightforward, except for the fact that there is no indication on the sheet linking the specimen to Haynes. The handwriting on the label is that of Johann Christian von Schreber, who traded and bought plants from a number of botanists. This sheet is part of a Schreber collection acquisitioned in 1813 by the herbarium in Munich’s Bavarian Natural History Collections. Also on the sheet is a not in the handwriting of Albrecht Roth, who was an early proponent of the idea that plants could attract and digest insects and thus derive nourishment from them. Schreber thought this outlandish. Sending the plant to Schreber was less about taxonomy and more about plant physiology. In the note Roth writes that “the incurved leaves [of the specimen] hold dead insects.” Roth published an article in which he remarked that he had received Drosera from Haynes with insects trapped in the leaves, providing evidence for linking Haynes’s illustration to Schreber’s specimen through Roth.
This is a case of what I would call investigative botany, practiced by those taxonomists who also have a love of history. The “excuse” is to find type specimens for species that are untypified or mis-typified, but it is also a way to satisfy an urge to solve a mystery. Here the hunt was made more challenging, and perhaps therefore more intriguing, because the fate of the bulk of Haynes’ herbarium is unknown, and a search of what does exist turned up nothing related to the Drosera. It’s suggestive of the more casual attitude toward specimens used in describing a species at that time that Haynes sent at least one of them on to Roth, and then Roth passed it on to Schreber in service of his insectivore argument. It took dogged work to link the specimen’s provenance to the illustration in the original description, which is very similar.
My other two examples of intimate relationships between specimens and art are of a different kind and definitely tend toward the artistic rather than scientific end of the spectrum. The first is a painting I saw on the web some time ago, and it keeps coming to mind. It is “Lupinus argenteus, Silver Lupine” by Susan Rubin. It won the Group Gold Medal from the Royal Horticultural Society London in 2017. It’s a work of trompe-l’oeil and shows a herbarium specimen of the lupine, with faded colors and all the associated trappings of such a sheet. This one is stamped from the Denver Botanic Gardens (where Rubin teaches) and includes a typed label, accession number, and barcode sticker. Overlaid on it is a fresh lupine flower with its beautiful blue-purple inflorescence and green leaves. The cutting has a small paper label and casts a shadow on the sheet suggesting it has merely been placed there for a moment to compare the live and dead specimens.
Not surprisingly, Rubin is a botanical artist and much of her work is more traditional, though tending toward the artistic rather than the documentary. She has done a series of trompe-l’oeil paintings, but none of the others have a herbarium specimen. They show illustrations, sometimes taped or pinned to an artist’s table along with notes, preparatory sketches, a pencil or two, and other tools of the trade. Somehow, these additions make the work more lively as it seems in the act of becoming. The lupine is an indication of the accuracy of her work, and how it is grounded in the plant itself.
Finally, I want to mention a rather odd convergence of art and science. This was brought to my attention by the Swedish historian of science Anna Svensson, whose dissertation is a wonderful example of how history, botany, art, and the digital environment can be interwoven. Anna spent some time at the Botanical Garden in Florence hunting among its treasures. One that she found was a small bound herbarium where some of the flowers were painted over to give them more color. I’ve written about early herbaria where missing petals or leaves were painted in, but the plants themselves were unadorned. The Florence example went a step further. It’s definitely at the far, far end of the scientific/artistic spectrum and a very unscientific move, but fascinating nonetheless.
Fleischmann, A., & Gonella, P. M. (2020). Typification and authorship of Drosera intermedia (Droseraceae). Taxon, 69(1), 153–160. https://doi.org/10.1002/tax.12158
Note: I would like to thank Susan Rubin for allowing me to use her art in this post.