Ever since I first saw Hans Holbein the Younger’s The Ambassadors as a teenager, I’ve been interested in the concepts of vanitas and memento mori.
I still find the oversized, anamorphic skull stretched across the lower half of the painting so bold and unexpected for a 16th century Renaissance painting. The distorted skull looks almost digitally superimposed and out of place, and more than a little unsettling.
Hans Holbein the Younger, The Ambassadors (1533), oil on oak
In the 17th century, a dark genre of still-life painting flourished in Europe, particularly the Netherlands. At a time of great mercantile wealth and frequent military conflict, these paintings, known as vanitas, were ripe with symbolic objects intended to emphasize the transience of life, the futility of earthly pleasure, and the pointless quest for power and glory.
Cath Pound, Artsy
The skull is only one of several symbols in the painting that represent vanitas and memento mori. The term vanitas originates from the Latin term for pointlessness or futility, and can be found in the opening lines of the Book of Ecclesiastes: “Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”
“Memento mori” translates directly to “remember you must die”. Like the concept of vanitas, memento mori reminds us of the fleeting nature of life and the inevitability of death.
Both of these concepts can be found in allegorical art in the form of visual symbols such as skulls, bubbles, candles, insects, and fruit.
Balthasar van der Ast, Still Life with Basket of Fruit (1622), oil on panel
Hendrick Andriessen, Vanitas Still Life (ca. 1650), oil on canvas
My personal favourite vanitas or memento mori symbol is the dying flower. While initially vibrant and alluring, flowers inevitably wither and fade, mirroring the cycle of life and death. Often depicted in various stages of decay with wilting petals and fading colors, flowers often appear in vanitas art to represent the transient and fleeting nature of life and beauty.
As a fan of Dutch Golden Age painting, I adore the vanitas-themed still lifes of painters such as Cornelis de Heem and Maria van Oosterwijck. They are incredibly rich with detail and meaning, and I love the sensitive treatment of light and dark that allows their subjects – many of them flowers and other vanitas and memento mori symbols – to almost leap from the surface.
Cornelis de Heem, Vanitas Flower Still Life (1685), oil on canvas
I was especially reminded of vanitas when I visited Hanoi last year. I saw fresh flowers everywhere; they were sold cheaply, in great bunches or elaborate arrangements.
This also meant that there were discarded flowers in abundance, and yesterday’s blooms were frequently left in the gutter with the rest of the trash until it was all cleared away.
Memento mori and vanitas both remind us of the inevitability of death, but the latter also emphasises the futility of excessive desire and earthly attachments to beauty, luxury and wealth. I see flowers as very much representative of vanitas: we purchase and admire them when they are freshly in bloom, their colours bright and vibrant, and discard them easily when they begin to decline.
The flowers below are a bouquet of poppies I bought last year. When I saw them sitting outside a grocery store, I was instantly reminded me of the Dutch flower still lifes I’ve always loved. I took them home and they sat on my kitchen table for a week, and I admired them the whole time. They were in the height of their bloom when I got them, and by the time I forced myself to throw them away, there were hardly any petals left and the stems were blackened and sagging.
I hesitated when I bought those poppies. I love giving and receiving flowers, and I consume many other luxuries and frivolities, such as vases for said flowers, fine clothing and jewellery, and overseas holidays.
But none of these things are truly necessary, even though they bring me pleasure and almost become part of my sense of self. It’s easy to justify them: “I’m the kind of person who takes care of herself”, or “I’m successful in my career, so I can have a treat”, or “I’m a stressed person, so I deserve something nice”. I’ve increasingly come to realise that those are just stories I’ve been telling myself.
I’m now focusing on being more aware and mindful of where my desires for material things and “earthly attachments” come from.
Because memento mori – I remember I must die – and I don’t believe that the brief life I have is made rich by mindlessly desiring and consuming.
It’s autumn now in Sydney, so many of the deciduous trees are dropping their leaves. My neighbourhood also has a lot of camellias, which are currently releasing all the flowers from their branches and leaving a carpet of decaying petals on the ground below.
My brother and I used to walk past a camellia tree every week near our parents’ house. It would dump tennis ball-sized clusters of petals on the sidewalk, and we would gleefully kick them down the street. The flowers would unfurl, leaving behind a stream of pink petals, until there was nothing but a naked bud.
When I look at them now, I think about how I will eventually deteriorate as well. I’m still in full bloom, so to speak, but it won’t last. All I can do is appreciate what I have, in every fleeting moment of “now”.