Pierre-Joseph Redoute, the Rembrandt of roses, Titian of tulips, Botticelli of the briar-patch and Cézanne of the secateurs was born and raised in Belgium, the off-shoot of a cultured family rooted deep in artistic tradition. After some basic training and unstinting hard graft, the budding artist rose up and rambled around Northern Europe painting churches and cathedrals, finally unearthing the work of Van Huysum and digging it so much that it sewed the seeds of his perennial preoccupation with all things floral.
In 1782, newly transplanted to the fertile grounds of Paris, his talent blossomed. After cultivating fronds in high places, news of his flora with aura reached the rich and flowerful Queen Marie Antoinette who appointed him to do her bedding as Royal painter of posies and teacher to the toffee-nosed and untalented, a floral arrangement that suited the vigorous young climber down to the ground.
However, not everything in the garden was rosy: some black spots arose when a drive to raise standards culminated in a season of vigorous pruning, lopping and dead-heading amongst his erstwhile employers, forcing Joseph to get hip, hedge his political bets, avoid several thorny issues, and finally emerge with his reputation unsoiled and a new promotion as herbaceous border and artist in residence to the incoming Josephine, who was equally 'empressed' by his power with a flower.
So, while Napoleon weeded out detractors, the unwilting Joseph kept Josephine in raptures and floral fine art heaven, touching up her tulips, lyricising her lilies, idealising her irises and eulogising her floribundas, all with the aid of some beautifully-placed and excitingly-erect stipples, no doubt bringing roses to her cheeks, though, as far as we know, never ever actually deflowering her. Blooming fantastic. The pick of the bunch.
