Seeing is believing

Exquisitely crafted from hand-dyed silks and velvets, Anne Tomlin’s uncannily realistic flower pieces possess a beauty that will never fade, discovers Natasha Goodfellow

- Natasha Goodfellow

THE wildflower meadow in front of me is a colourful tangle of daisies, poppies, harebells and creeping thistle. A honeybee forages happily among the petals of a greater knapweed and a buff-tailed bumblebee hones in on a plump red clover flower. Looking more closely, I spot the flamenco wings of a cinnabar moth and, close by, its handsomely ringed gold-and-black caterpillar wriggling up some ragwort, of which it would, no doubt, make short work—if only it could.

Because what I’m looking at is not, in fact, real, but the exquisite handiwork of milliner-turned-flower-maker Anne Tomlin. Working from her garden studio in West Sussex, just outside the South Downs National Park, Anne takes all manner of hand-dyed silks and velvets, Japanese wires and antique hat straws and transforms them into tableaux of the natural world, as delightful as they are mesmerising. Some, such as a peacock butterfly dive-bombing a pink echinacea or a spray of cherry blossom on which a robin guards a single, shimmering egg in its nest, adorn hats. Others—a glorious dollop of duchesse satin ‘cream’, embellished with glossy, waxed-paper clay strawberries and a sprig of handpainted satin mint—are complete hats in themselves. An incredibly delicate daisy chain and the aforementioned meadow are presented in glass domes or cases; pieces of art and botanical studies to be considered and enjoyed in their own right.

‘I’m fascinated by hats and never want to stop making them,’ says Anne. ‘I love their quirkiness and the conversations they start. The trouble with a hat is that it’s often seen as a frivolity—worn briefly and then stuffed into a box, which doesn’t value the workmanship I want to be known for. Sometimes, I want people to look at the flowers or the insects and to spark a conversation that way.’