Teresa Freitas Exploring places via the flowers they’re synonymous with

At the end of 2023, photographer Teresa Freitas was roadtripping through the Moroccan desert when she noticed clusters of bright pink roses dotting the banks of a river. “It was hard not to be moved, after driving for kilometers and kilometers through a completely arid desert,” says Freitas. Later, she learned more about the Damask rose—a tall fragrant flower native to the middle-east that grows for just two months a year.

Freitas traveled to the nearby city of Kalaat M'Gouna, where she met a woman named Hafssa who ran a rose oil business. Hafssa introduced her to the ins and outs of the production—the men take care of the agricultural side, while women pick the flowers and process them into oil. “It’s a tradition passed down from mothers to daughters, grandmothers to great-grandmothers. Being a flower-picker is part of that heritage, and it’s important to them to keep growing and caring for that,” says Freitas. “Despite all the challenges—climate change, land grabs, and more—they’re determined to protect this part of their story.”

Back home in Lisbon, Freitas began to look for other places where flowers are not only valued for their beauty, but are part of a tradition. In Japan, she found the safflower—a bright, thistlelike plant used for centuries to produce a golden-pink dye. In the Azores islands, she found the hydrangeas—an imported flower that grows so abundantly it is now central to the island’s identity. Together these three flowers—the Damask rose, the safflower, and the hydrangea—form a photography series titled “Flower(s).” “Each story starts with a flower,” Freitas explains, and the idea is to focus on something simple and direct and then uncover the interconnected layers of tradition, ritual and culture in the communities that live with them.

After securing an artist’s residency in Japan last year, Freitas was able to complete the first chapter: “Flower(s) – Vol 1,” now published by Four Eyes éditions. The narrative takes place in Takase, a rural village in Yamagata prefecture. The safflower is the region’s official flower, and every July bursts of orange and yellow light up its fields and hilltops. For over 600 years, locals have harvested its petals to create dyes for textiles and cosmetics. Over time, the safflower lost its commercial value; there are only a handful of businesses that rely on it today. However, its history is kept alive each year with centuries-old rituals and festivals, which Freitas photographed during her month-long visit.

Children run through fields of fiery flowers, while locals perform ritual dances in traditional garments and folkloric masks. Freitas lived for some time with a local monk and his family, photographing the intimate routines of their multi-generational household, while travelling to the fields each morning at dawn to help with the harvest.

Motifs of myth and spirituality surface in her images, too. In Japan, the safflower is known as “benibana”—red flower—a name that coincidentally alludes to its prickly history. When the safflower first arrived in Japan through the Silk Road, its petals were used to extract a rare crimson dye reserved for the elite. A local legend explains how these golden plants achieved such a deep red hue: there was once a young flower picker who couldn’t afford gloves, and as she picked the thorned flowers her blood dripped, staining the fabric red. An image of a blood-soaked hand directly references this story. “The red is from the sap from an ancient pine tree, growing in the middle of the flower field,” Freitas explains. “A girl pointed it out to me—she said, ‘Look at this!’ and pressed her hand into the sticky red sap. It was a perfect metaphor for the tale, without even having planned it.”

Colour is integral to the work, with the safflower’s fiery accents popping through the sequence. However, the images are more gentle and observational, capturing scenes filled with poetry and nostalgia. The book itself, in its tactility, feels more intimate too. On the back cover is a line from a haiku: ‘I wonder whose skin this crimson flower will touch’. It was written by Japanese poet Matsuo Bashō in the 17th century during his travels around northern Japan. The haiku is also slipped into a delicate pocket inside the front cover, along with supplementary texts including an imaginative text by painter Inès Longevial, in which she writes from the point of view of the safflower.

Flowers are appreciated in every culture across the world, and Freitas has always been drawn to them. “Some kids grow up fascinated by bugs or trains. For me, it was always flowers,” she says. As a child, she loved them from an aesthetic standpoint—in Van Gogh paintings or Disney films like Alice in Wonderland—but her personal connection goes deeper. Her mother was a biologist, and one of her research projects was focused on a flower that only grows in a specific region of Portugal. “I’d watch my mum writing notes about this tiny little thing no one really knew about. That really left an impression on me—seeing someone give so much attention and care to something so overlooked.” This book, “Flower(s) – Vol 1,” is dedicated to her mother. “It feels like a full circle. I’m doing the same thing, but a bit differently. In the end, we’re both trying to preserve the story of a single flower, to care for it, and to make sure it doesn’t disappear over time.”