A Wondrous Pyramidal Flower Vase by Adrianus Kocx

A 17th-century flower pyramid is an object that, even if not immediately decipherable, is instantly intriguing. The blue-and-white earthenware is familiar, but the shape is hard to place, something between a pagoda and an obelisk. The spouts hint to its surprisingly simple purpose: that of holding flowers. Yet, the tiny ornaments, which may protrude from its stacked tiers, transform it into an object of fancy, as much as use. These are objects that sit between wonder and utility, that push a fragile medium toward an almost hubristic boldness. This curiosity, even weirdness, makes it one of the most iconic forms of Delftware.

When she found out that a Flower Pyramid (c. 1690) from the Greek A factory was heading to TEFAF Maastricht in 2024, Ada de Wit, Ellen S. and Bruce V. Mavec Curator of Decorative Arts at the Cleveland Museum of Art, made sure she was ready. “We are an encyclopedic museum. We have a very strong collection of decorative arts, but we didn’t have a major example of Delftware. Hence, I was actively looking for a piece,” De Wit shares. Museum acquisitions can be a lengthy process, so after she had seen the image ahead of the fair, she got in touch with the exhibitor, Aronson Antiquairs. “When I finally saw it at the fair, it confirmed that, yes, it’s as good as I expected it to be. We can go for it.”

The 95-cm-tall (37.4 in.) Flower Pyramid is both aesthetically striking and art historically significant, providing a material connection to an important moment in English history. After the Glorious Revolution in 1688, William III and Mary II moved from the Netherlands—where William had been a stadtholder—to England, where they were proclaimed joint sovereigns the following year. Upon their arrival to England, Mary redecorated Hampton Court and Kensington Palace, assisted by the French Protestant designer Daniel Marot, with whom she had worked in the Netherlands. During this period, she commissioned and displayed hundreds of examples of Delftware.

Mary patronized the Greek A factory, where this example was produced, and she served as a kind of ambassador for Delftware in England. There were 34 factories in Delft, of which Greek A was the best-known. Robert Aronson of Aronson Antiquairs explains that once Mary became a client there, “the factory became aware of the high-level demand in the market.” By producing export objects for Mary, they were also creating a market for her courtiers who sought to emulate her and compliment her taste. This pyramid features a hexagonal base, with tiered components that slot into one another. Each tier serves as a separate cavity, in which water can be pooled for the stems to keep hydrated. It has scaled-down architectural elements—arches, columns, recessed panels—and more fanciful components, such as pawed feet, peacocks, and some frog-like creatures. The unidentified amphibians wear pearls, likely in reference to the fashionable women who collected these vases. Even though the degree to which Mary influenced the actual designs cannot be determined, it is known that she corresponded directly with Greek A. “We know that Adrianus Kocx [the owner of Greek A] himself was in contact with Queen Mary,” explains Aronson. “Officially, he was not allowed to sell to England, because in the late 17th century England still had an embargo on Delftware.” Mary defied the embargo, which had been put in place to protect English ceramic production. Her courtiers followed.

This act of bypassing the embargo—and the larger history of tin-glazed earthenware—takes the Flower Pyramid’s story beyond England. Delftware production was originally motivated by the desire to imitate Chinese porcelain. “They did not succeed in developing true porcelain; Meissen was the first European factory that was able to produce hard-paste porcelain. That’s another story,” adds De Wit—but the story can now be told through objects. “Our visitors will see the Asian galleries, and they’ll visit the Dutch gallery where they’ll discover this piece and learn about exchanges between different countries in the 17th century.”

After the 17th century, once this style of Delftware had fallen out of fashion, a different kind of exchange took place. “I know of past pieces that I owned that, especially in the early 18th century, were gifted to people working at the palaces,” says Aronson. For this object, those decades after William and Mary’s reign cannot be traced with precision, but one later owner is known, however. Cecil Beaton, the acclaimed photographer, purchased the vase in the 20th century, and he lived with it in his home for about 25 years. In photographs, it can be spotted atop a cabinet, in pride of place.

For the Flower Pyramid was meant to be lived with—and to hold flowers. Now that the Flower Pyramid has found its home in Cleveland, De Wit and her colleague Beth Edelstein, Senior Objects Conservator and Head of Objects Conservation, are finding ways to bring that simultaneous intimacy and grandeur into the galleries. De Wit and Edelstein commissioned an artist, Quynh Nguyen, to make paper flowers, including tulips and forget-me-nots, to decorate the vase. Edelstein ensured that the selection would be safe to place in a closed display case with the object, recalling, “We asked the artist to share the specific brands of paper, paint, and adhesive she uses so that we could investigate the stability of these materials. We also looked at the lightfastness of the different colors that she chooses, trying to make sure that the investment has a long life as well.” If 17th-century flower paintings often emphasize the ephemerality of life, perhaps the Flower Pyramid suggests something else: that objects live many lives, even if they must be handled with care.