1 October 2018

Botanical Beginnings in the Sino-Tibetan Borderlands


https://images.hollis.harvard.edu/primo-explore/search?query=any,contains,ernest%20henry%20wilson&tab=default_tab&search_scope=default_scope&sortby=rank&vid=HVD_IMAGES&facet=creator,include,Wilson,%20Ernest%20Henry,%201876-1930,%20American,%20English&lang=en_US&offset=0
Bridge at Shih-chuan Hsien, West China, 1910
I’ve spent a large part of this year following botanists through the Sino-Tibetan borderlands, tracking them through various texts – both published and unpublished. The hey-day of Western explorers of this ilk is certainly the early decades of the twentieth century. Many of these individuals from Ernest Henry Wilson through George Forrest, Reginald Farrer, and Joseph Rock, to Frank Kingdon Ward, George Sherriff and Frank Ludlow, all wrote travelogues of their remarkable journeys – but probably the best place to start on such a topic is Euan H. M. Cox’s Plant-Hunting in China: A History of Botanical Exploration in China and the Tibetan Marches (1945). Cox was himself a botanist and travelled in this region at the same time, and so he provides a uniquely interesting angle on this last hurrah of great explorers conquering the final ‘blank spaces’ on the map (as he and several of his contemporaries thought of it). There were a number of Westerners based in China who dabbled their green-fingers in the subject in the nineteenth century. For some it was simply a hobby, for others it was a more serious minded pursuit. Perhaps the most famous of these individuals is Robert Fortune, who is credited with introducing the tea plant to India from China. But it was only in the early years of the twentieth century that the professional plant hunter really managed to get a firm foothold enabling the ‘opening up’ this biodiversity “hotspot.” Indeed, the Hengduan region of China covers a vast region of some 300,000 square miles (500,000 square kilometres). It contains over 12,000 species of vascular plants, with thousands of endemic species and genera included within this astonishingly varied array of vegetation, making it one of the most botanically rich and interesting places on the face of the earth. Curiously though, at this time, given the colonial interest in exploiting natural resources for profit – the main driver behind this upsurge in botanical exploration at the start of the twentieth century wasn’t so much a ruthless search for timber, rubber sap, or cereal crops, but was mainly spurred by a quest to beautify the ordinary gardens of the West with wonderful, and often fragile and delicate flowers.

Min Valley, south of Sungpan, West China, 1910 (Havard / Arnold Arboretum)

According to Cox, the transition from amateur to professional botanist in China was first embodied in the person of Dr Augustine Henry (1857-1930): “At the start [Henry] made no pretence of being a botanist. All the study he had had in that subject was for the knowledge necessary to obtain his medical degree. Indeed in a letter written from Ichang [Yichang, Hubei] he admitted that he took to collecting plants from sheer boredom: “Oh, if you knew the weariness of the exile’s life. I have become a great collector of plants, and after exhausting the neighbourhood I thought of going into the mountains, so I spent six months in two journeys into the interior.” He did not start collecting until he had been three years at Ichang.”

Augustine Henry in China
Henry was actually a member of the Chinese Imperial Maritime Customs Service, recruited by Sir Robert Hart in 1879. He first arrived in China in 1881 and retired from the Service in 1901. During that time he immersed himself in the study of plants and began corresponding with many of the directors of the leading botanical gardens, such as at Kew in the UK and the Arnold Arboretum in the USA, as well as the major commercial nursery companies, such as Veitch and Bees, sending plants and seeds to them. These recognised authorities greatly encouraged and supported him in both his botanical studies and his collecting work. They sent him articles and papers which he studied and absorbed with great proficiency. He was very much welcomed at the Royal Botanical Gardens in Kew when he made a visit during a period of home leave in 1886. Consequently, as his confidence and his knowledge grew, he rapidly became the acknowledged authority in the West China region; yet he remained keenly aware of his limitations and as such he always sought to act as a useful conduit to the work of others in the botanical field.

Other Customs Commissioners across China, such as Hosea Ballou Morse, commissioned Chinese collectors to work on Henry’s behalf and sent him specimens. Henry even managed to engage his friend, Pierre Bons D’Anty, the French consul at Szemao (Simao), near the border with French Indochina (Vietnam), to collect for him as well. He also corresponded with Arthur Bulley, the head of Bees Ltd, a leading nursery company in the UK, sending him seeds. The two men eventually met in England when Henry retired from the Customs Service in 1901. Bulley confided that he hoped one day to be able to send out a collector to the West China region which he subsequently did in 1904 and 1911 when he financed expeditions by George Forrest and Frank Kingdon Ward. Henry had always advocated the need for genuine scientific exploration of this botanically lush borderland region, and had frequently taken every opportunity to encourage others to sponsor such expeditions to the region. Writing to Professor Charles Sargent, Head of the Arnold Arboretum, Henry stated his opinion that: “Yunnan is a splendid ground for the anthropologist, ethnologist, zoologist, geologist: and I should very much like to see a trained expedition set out to explore – we who are on the spot are too busy with our ordinary duties to go in seriously for any such studies.”

In response Sargent repeatedly expended a great deal of effort in trying to recruit Henry to lead such an expedition himself, but Henry repeatedly declined Sargent’s overtures, on one occasion saying that “I could scarcely be expected to resign from my position in the Customs, unless I saw an opening equally good. I am less loath to refuse, because I know that remaining in the Customs I still do good service to botany.”

A. Henry & H. J. Elwes
However, when he finally left the Customs Service and quit China Henry spent much of his time working on his collections at Kew. He went on to pursue a successful second career in forestry, studying first at the French School of Forestry in Nancy and later at Cambridge University, publishing a seven volume work on The Trees of Great Britain and Ireland (1907-1913), co-authored with H. J. Elwes. In 1913 he became the first professor of forestry at the Royal College of Science in Dublin. Having made the transition from talented amateur to recognised academic authority Henry continued to be a pivotal person in the network of botanists working in West China, all of whom essentially followed in his footsteps. He helped to spur the careers of several by recommending them to the directors of the large botanical gardens and institutions, such as the Royal Horticultural Society, and he regularly gave them practical advice and support in their continuing work. Not least among them was Ernest Henry Wilson, who acknowledged his debt to Henry, the ‘scholarly Irishman’ who had been a mentor to him when he first arrived in China.

Ernest Henry Wilson
Cox describes the best qualities of the professional plant hunter in relation to Ernest Henry Wilson (1876-1930), whom he saw as representing the first truly expert collector to operate in West China. Such a specialist “spends most of his life collecting, knows his plants, knows his job and knows his country. He works by routine, visiting an area to see what is to be seen and returning later to collect the seed harvest. He works for two masters, the botanical institution that is interested in herbarium material and the gardener who is keen to grow new plants. As a rule this kind of dual command works harmoniously and does not clash. The collector sets out with a definitive object in view, covers an area limited in extent, and does not run haphazard over the country. Often collecting is the man’s livelihood; always is it taken seriously.”

Wilson was certainly a man of exceptional diligence, with a meticulous eye for detail. He began his working life as an apprentice at the Hewitt Nurseries in Solihull. He then went on to work at the Birmingham Botanical Gardens whilst also studying in the evenings at the Birmingham Technical School, where he received the Queen’s Prize for botany. In 1897 he joined the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew, continuing to study for the Higher Grade examination in horticulture at the Royal Horticultural Society, which in turn enabled him to attend lectures at the Royal College of Science in South Kensington. He left Kew to take up studying full time at the Royal College with the intention of gaining the necessary qualifications to become a teacher of botany. But his life changed course when, having been personally recommended by Sir William Thiselton-Dyer, the director of the RBG Kew, he was offered the opportunity to become a plant collector in China for James Veitch and Sons.

Davidia involucrata, at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Edinburgh

Père Armand David
He first travelled to China in 1899, charged with finding the source of Davidia involucrata, known informally as the dove or handkerchief tree, because of its remarkable and distinctive flowers, which Augustine Henry described on first sighting in 1888: “It seemed as though the branches had been draped in thousands of ghostly-white handkerchiefs.” This species of tree had first been seen and reported on in 1869 by Père Armand David, a French missionary, after whom it was given its scientific name. It really is quite a sight to behold when it is in full flower and its branches seem to be limply hung with gently fluttering white bracts. I saw it for the first time earlier this year at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Edinburgh.

Davidia involucrata, at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Edinburgh

Asides from its main object, Wilson’s first expedition was highly successful, collecting many other plant and seed specimens of hundreds of other species over the course of two years travelling in the borderlands. He made a second expedition for Veitch and Sons before he took up an offer to join the staff of the Arnold Arboretum, having made a favourable impression upon Charles Sargent whom he had met and befriended while passing through the United States on his first journey to China, thereby transitioning from commercial plant hunter to scientific collector and academic. 

Wilson on one of his houseboats in China (Harvard / Arnold Arboretum)


Between 1899 and 1911 he made four separate plant collecting trips to China, the first two on behalf of Veitch and Sons and the second two on behalf of the Arnold Arboretum, covering vast areas in the provinces of Hubei, Sichuan, and Yunnan. In April 1919 he was appointed Assistant Director of the Arnold Arboretum and continued to travel, visiting countries such as Australia, New Zealand, and India, as well as parts of Central and Southern Africa, and various parts of Asia, such as Singapore, Japan, and Korea. Whilst travelling in Australia he was horrified at the extent of commercial deforestation occurring there unchecked, describing it as a kind of “Arboricidal mania” “Few seem to sufficiently appreciate what an important factor trees are in the wealth, health and beauty of a country. When you destroy the forests you upset the balance of nature. Besides the aspects of utility and beauty trees play an important part in health. They live on the very gas (carbon dioxide) that is poisonous to the animal kingdom, and if the vegetable kingdom were destroyed the animal kingdom would automatically die, too … The present generation must remember that it only holds the forests in trust for future generations.” He later succeeded Charles Sargent as the director of the Arnold Arboretum when Sargent died in 1927, representing quite a career trajectory from his early days and not least for one still relatively young. Wilson was only 54 years old at the moment of his and his wife’s untimely deaths in a road accident in 1930.

Wilson in Korea


Wilson was a self-made man. A rigorous and successful academic, he gained many awards and several honorary degrees in the course of his career. He was more than simply a botanist though, as many of his written works also display an astute interest in the customs and cultures of the peoples of the regions he travelled through. He was also an expert photographer who always carried very cumbersome and fragile Sanderson glass plate camera with him which he used to great effect. He was probably initially coached by his neighbour from a couple of doors down on Gloucester Road in Kew, the photographer, E. J. Wallis, who later assisted him with the processing and developing of his plates on his return from China. But even the most cursory of glances through Wilson’s photographic catalogue clearly shows that he had a natural ability for seeing and framing his shots. His dedication to scouting locations, then scoping and preparing views over the course of several days at a time, waiting until the lighting conditions were just right, have resulted in a unique collection of exceptional photographs of the highest quality, primarily documenting plants and trees but also recording details of his journeys, the modes of transport he used, as well as the peoples and places he encountered in order to form a comprehensive visual archive of the experience of botanical exploration. Cox also noted that Wilson “was a writer of many parts” – “he could give information clearly, readably and without frills in A Naturalist in Western China, one of the most informative books on botanical exploration ever written; he could be as popular as you like writing for the large, sprouting American gardening public in Aristocrats of the Garden, when publicity gave him the nickname of “Chinese” Wilson, a name which he good-humouredly put up with and secretly disliked; he could lecture extremely well. But in whatever mood he always insisted on being accurate, and he rarely made a mis-statement.”

Wilson's caravan of porters and assistants, China, 1908 (Harvard / Arnold Arboretum)

In my family there’s always been an old adage that ‘gardeners are always the calmest, quietest, and the wisest of folk.’ Wilson was one of those kind of men. Indeed, in some respects, Wilson was a highly perceptive man with a global vision and scientific wisdom which is starkly prescient when read now, in the light of today’s reality, as we begin to reap the bitter rewards of a blinkered Anthropocene era. A modern epoch, less than a century in age, which has failed to heed the entirely rational conclusions of an enlightened and attuned man, such as Ernest Henry Wilson, who, when writing in 1930, observed that: “In the Bible we are told that in the first garden God planted ‘The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil’, and in the old Norse Sagas the Oak and Ash are frequently mentioned. Priest and poet in every land have sung their praises and down the ages a mighty literature on tree lore has been accumulated. From early times trees have afforded shelter, food, and clothing, and have exercised a tremendous influence over daily life. The more simple the people the greater their appreciation, at least so it would seem since as nations became civilized they one and all by fire and axe have destroyed the friendly trees and of these vandals the white man ranks head and shoulders above all others. From the early stages of his colonizing days down to within a few years of the present, wherever he has gone he has laid waste the tree wealth of the lands in an effort, often in vain, to make a blade of corn grow where two trees grew before.”


Wilson in Taiwan



References & Further Reading

E. H. M. Cox, Plant Hunting in China: A History of Botanical Exploration in China and the Tibetan Marches (London: Collins, 1945

Fa-Ti Fan, British Naturalists in Qing China: Science, Empire, and Cultural Encounter (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2004)

David E. Boufford, ‘Biodiversity Hotspot: China’s Hengduan Mountains’, in Arnoldia, Vol. 72, No. 1 (2014), pp. 24-35

Susan Kelley, ‘Plant Hunting on the Rooftop of the World’, in Arnoldia, Vol. 61, No. 2 (2001), pp. 2-13

Helen Dillon, ‘In The Footsteps of Augustine Henry’, in Irish Arts Review, Vol. 29, No. 2 (Summer, 2012), pp. 110-113, p. 111

E. Charles Nelson, ‘Augustine Henry and the Exploration of the Chinese Flora’, in Arnoldia, Vol. 43, No. 1 (Winter, 1982-1983), pp. 21-38

Seamus O’Brien, In The Footsteps of Augustine Henry and His Chinese Plant Collectors (New York: Garden Art Press, 2011)

Ernest Henry Wilson, A Naturalist in Western China with Vasculum, Camera, and Gun. Being Some Account of Eleven Years’ Travel, Exploration, and Observation in the More Remote Parts of the Flowery Kingdom (London: Methuen & Co., 1913), 2 Vols.

Ernest Henry Wilson, Aristocrats of the Garden (London: Williams & Northgate, 1938 [1917])

Peter J. Chvany, ‘E. H. Wilson, Photographer’, in Arnoldia, Vol. 36, No. 5 (September-October, 1976), pp. 181-236

Richard A. Howard, ‘E. H. Wilson as Botanist’, in Arnoldia, Vol. 40, No. 3 (May-June, 1980), pp. 102-138

Richard A. Howard, ‘E. H. Wilson as Botanist’, in Arnoldia, Vol. 40, No. 4 (July-August, 1980), pp. 154-193

Alfred Rehder, ‘Ernest Henry Wilson’, in Journal of the Arnold Arboretum, Vol. 11, No. 4 (October, 1930), pp. 181-192

Alfred Rehder, ‘Ernest Henry Wilson (1876-1930)’, in Proceedings of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Vol. 70, No. 10 (March, 1936), pp. 602-604

Roy W. Briggs, Chinese Wilson: A Life of Ernest H. Wilson, 1876-1930 (London: HMSO, 1993)

Denise M. Glover, Stevan Harrell, Charles F. McKhann, & Margaret Byrne Swain (eds.), Explorer’s & Scientists in China’s Borderlands, 1880-1950 (Seattle & London: University of Washington Press, 2011)


Tea porters, en route to Sungpan, West China, 1910 (Harvard / Arnold Arboretum)


Ernest Henry Wilson Photographic Archive at Harvard University / Arnold Arboretum 


Interview with Ernest Henry Wilson's biographer and great nephew, Roy Briggs (in three parts):





Also on 'Waymarks'



1 September 2018

Frida & Diego - Revolutionary Artists


https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frida_Kahlo#/media/File:Frida_Kahlo,_by_Guillermo_Kahlo_3.jpg
The other day I went to see the exhibition Frida Kahlo: Making Herself Up at the V&A (closes 4 November 2018) with some of my colleagues from the British Museum. It was a bit of a busman’s holiday for us, everyone tending to pay as much attention to how the exhibition was presented as well as to what it was presenting. Professional critiques aside (we all thought it was very well done, as are all V&A shows in general!), it put me in mind of a couple of trips I made to Mexico City back in 2011 and 2012, when I first encountered the work of the artists, Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera.

On the first of those two occasions I visited the Palacio National to see the amazingly exuberant and overflowing murals there painted by Diego Rivera. And on the second trip I also visited Frida and Diego’s modernist house in San Ángel. I must admit I didn’t know much about either of them beforehand. I was familiar with Frida Kahlo’s striking self-portraits, but other than that I knew very little else. But they were quite a curious couple. In his lifetime Diego was perhaps considered to be Mexico’s foremost and most famous artist, although Frida may nowadays perhaps be more widely known internationally. They seem to have had quite a strange relationship, marrying and divorcing and then marrying again. Each jealously having multiple affairs, although each remaining deeply attached to the other. Both of them were political activists, and their circle of friends included Leon Trotsky (with whom Frida had a brief affair). Rivera helped Trotsky, then seeking political asylum, to settle in Mexico – where the Russian revolutionary, who had fallen foul of Joseph Stalin, survived one assassination attempt in which his house was riddled with bullets only to be cut down famously by a blow to the head from the blunt end of an ice pick (recounting this story always brings to mind the Stranglers’ song, No More Heroes). Trotsky’s house in Mexico City is now a museum, somewhere I very much wanted to visit but sadly never managed to get to on either of my two trips. The V&A exhibition has some very interesting ‘home movie’ film footage of Trotsky in Mexico.


Trotsky gives a speech in Mexico - British Pathe News, c.1938




The exhibition showcases a cache of Frida’s personal possessions which had been stored in a locked room in her family house, Casa Azul in Coyoacán, which had been shut up after her death in 1954 and only opened in 2004. Consequently the exhibits are all deeply personal, beginning with family photographs and cine films, then moving on to a portrayal giving a sense of the Casa Azul itself, followed by her personal prosthetics and medicines, and culminating with a fantastic display of her famously colourful costumes all deeply symbolic, largely inspired by ethnic Mexican traditional cultures, showing her deep sense of patriotism and allegiance to the ideals of the Mexican revolution. She used to say she was born in 1910, the year the revolution began, overtly aligning herself to her nation’s history even though she was actually born in 1907. All her life she had been associated with left-leaning artists, free-thinkers and Communists. Her clothes were also carefully designed to hide her infirmities. Early on in her childhood she had been made lame by polio and in her teenage years she was impaled by a steel handrail when a bus she was riding had collided with a tram. It took her a long time to recover from this horrific accident, and it was whilst she was bed-ridden and convalescing that she first took up a paintbrush. Hence the motif of her bed is a prominent feature of the exhibition. In later years, looking back on her life, she said “I had two accidents in my life. One was the bus, the other was Diego.” As she got older the injuries she sustained in the bus crash dogged her life and only got worse, requiring her to wear prosthetics and medical corsets, seriously impeding her movement and confining her either to her bed or a wheelchair – hence her art tends to be deeply self-reflective. She said “I paint myself because I am so often alone, and because I am the subject I know best.” I suppose it’s this quality of infirmity and introspection which kept putting my in mind of the work of the Japanese poet, Masaoka Shiki, Frida’s near contemporary, who was similarly trapped inside his own failing body and channelled the visceral experience of debilitating illness and medical treatment into his poems. What shines through in Frida’s work though is a fiery sense of resistance and resilience overriding the frailty.

http://kopenhagen.dk/magasin/magazine-single/article/its-the-story-about-frida/


Frida and Diego’s house in San Ángel is a fascinating place. It was specially built for them by the architect, Juan O’Gorman, a follower of Le Corbusier, in 1931-1932. It is actually two houses, the larger, ochre coloured one being Diego’s, and the smaller, blue coloured one being Frida’s. The two houses are connected by a little bridge. Exploring them both rather put me in mind of a cross between Monsieur Hulot’s eclectic old house and the coolly modern house of his sister in the Jacques Tati film, Mon Oncle



Curiously I seem to have only taken one photograph of the house, with its rather ingenious organ cactus fence (there’s a colour photograph of Frida sitting beside this in the exhibition); although I have very clear memories of exploring the rooms with their wooden floors and large light-filled windows, with the accumulated ephemera of Diego and Frida’s lives scattered about the tables, worktops and window ledges. And every room had that distinctive mid-twentieth century scent of decayed Formica and furniture polish, which reminded me of my grandparents’ homes. Compounding that sensation of being lost in time, I see from my photos that after visiting Frida and Diego’s house, my friends and I went on to visit an ice cream parlour housed in a beautiful old art deco building, probably not too far away. I’m not sure why I didn’t take more photos that day – perhaps it was because, like the exhibition and her artworks, it all seemed too personal and private, like somehow I was intruding upon private-public lives in a deeply personal space, even though Frida and Diego are now both long gone.



https://www.vam.ac.uk/exhibitions/frida-kahlo-making-her-self-up

The V&A Museum, London
Until 4 November 2018 (paid entrance fee)