The remnants of a Victorian-era garden and the story of its ill-fated owner have inspired an artist and accidental farmer.
Words Alison Bennett Taylor
Photography Annie Kavanagh
THE warm whiff of woodsmoke mingles with scented layers of rose, jonquil and sandalwood in the parlour at Roselyn, where Annie Kavanagh has laid out cake adorned with freshly picked flowers on the good china.
Kavanagh is a botanical photographic artist. Her richly textured floral portraits – moody and dark, in the style of the Dutch masters – hang on the walls around us, conspiring with the scent and the warmth and the blossom-strewn cake to create a complete floral sensory experience.
“Can you smell the perfume?” she asks anxiously, as I sink into the sofa, swooning with the elegance of it all. This carefully orchestrated immersion is all the more remarkable because Kavanagh was born without a sense of smell.
