CANVASES, CARATS AND CURIOSITIES

Come along as we explore the single plant that sparked a multi-millennia-long obsession and continues to command premium prices in the art and antiques market.

Greek Architecture Origins

The origin of the acanthus leaf as an artistic motif dates back to the 5th century BCE during the ancient Greek Empire. The legend itself comes from the Roman Vitruvius (75 BCE - 15 CE), who wrote that architect and sculptor Callimachus invented the motif after seeing a votive basket placed on a young girl’s grave. Over time, an acanthus plant grew around the basket, twisting its leaves gracefully around the woven structure. The natural elegance of the curled leaf inspired Callimachus to translate the sight into stone, giving birth to the Corinthian order.

In classical architecture, the term “order” refers to a building design system defined by the uniform proportions, details, and decorative style of a column and its entablature (the horizontal structure resting on top). Ancient Greek architects developed three principal orders with their own distinctive character: Doric, Ionic and Corinthian. These orders form the foundation for classical architecture and the numerous neoclassical derivatives.

Before the Corinthian capital, there were two other orders— Doric and Ionic— that were favored by ancient builders. These column types, however, were sparsely decorative. Ionic columns were the most complex at that time, merely adorned with a fluted shaft and short volutes on the capital. Callimachus’ introduction of the Corinthian capital changed everything. The rather rigid geometry of the prior marble columns suddenly bloomed with the lush, flowing lines of nature.

The plant at the heart of this innovation, Acanthus mollis, with its broad, scalloped leaves, proved an ideal muse: bold enough to be stylized, yet intricate enough to convey vitality. Unlike the Ionic order, the Corinthian capital doubled in height to allow for the volume of leaves and other decorative elements flowing down the capital. The earliest known example of a Corinthian column dates to 450-420 BCE, from the Temple of Apollo Epicurius in Arcadia (now, Messenia), Greece. The first carved leaves embraced the prickly nature of the plant, with sharp edges and ridges that carried a visible contrast to the uncarved stone.

Though the order was invented in Greece, it was used rather sparingly in the classical period. Corinthian columns were reserved for places where a heightened sense of grandeur was required, such as monuments or temples dedicated to important deities.

The Roman Period

It was the Romans, however, who fully embraced the Corinthian capital and really perfected the acanthus pattern in design. What was once the occasional Greek flourish became a defining feature of Roman architecture. This also stems from the Romans’ eagerness to adopt and adapt Greek design into more complex projections of power and sophistication. They truly perfected the column through streamlining the form, standardizing proportions, and multiplying the lushness of the acanthus leaves on the capital. By the 1st century BCE, the Corinthian capital was the favored style for Roman temples, forums, and civic spaces.

Sometimes, the Romans would use the leftover marble ruins of an ancient Greek temple to create new structures. Their unending synthesis of the past with the present led to the creation of the Roman composite order, a hybrid design that combined the volutes and fluted shaft of the Ionic with the leafy exuberance of the Corinthian.

The Romans did not limit the acanthus motif to columns alone. They applied it to many available art forms: into stone sarcophagi, wooden furniture or displayed in tile mosaics. In decorative friezes, acanthus leaves took on many inventive shapes, whether unfurled into scrolls, intertwined with leaves or framing mythological figures. Whether dramatic or delicate, the acanthus leaf’s adaptability held a sense of vitality.

As we know, the Romans loved to conquer. When Roman armies and administrators pushed their culture outward and onward, so too did their artistic language. The acanthus leaf motif merged with local traditions, marrying the foliage with other symbols. The Arch of Hadrian in Jerash, Jordan (circa 129-130 CE) features engaged Corinthian columns while displaying more classic Nabataean architectural features, such as a row of acanthus leaves on the bases of each column.

Thus, the acanthus leaf became a visual shorthand for Rome itself, symbolizing cultural authority and empire-wide unity. Even as Roman power waned, the acanthus endured. Its ability to move fluidly between architectural grandeur and mere ornament ensured the motif survived the decline of the empire and laid the groundwork for its revival.

Medieval Survival

With the fall of Rome, the acanthus leaf was reborn into a new Christian context by medieval artisans. No longer about imperial grandeur, the curling foliage became a metaphor for the struggles of earthly life and the promise of salvation, taking on a devotional resonance.

In church stonework, such as in the cloister of Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert Abbey (now in The Cloisters, New York), the acanthus appears more angular and deeply cut than its classical predecessors. This shift in style was not accidental: the jagged, almost thornlike quality of the leaves was read as an emblem of Christ’s suffering, echoing the crown of thorns.

The Byzantine architectural tradition took to acanthus leaves like a fish in water, often utilizing the forms for a more lace-like application. On these capitals, the dark negative space contrasts with the lightness of the acanthus leaves. In doing so, the acanthus suggests the tree of life, whose leaves “were for the healing of all nations,” according to John in Revelation 22.

The motif also thrived on the page. Illuminated manuscripts created in monastic scriptoria frequently used acanthus leaves as borders and frames, their curling tendrils surrounding sacred texts. Here, the motif was softened, its flowing lines guiding the reader’s eye across the page. By preserving and adapting the acanthus in both stone and parchment, medieval monks ensured that the tradition survived through centuries of upheaval, laying the groundwork for its glorious revival in the Renaissance.

Renaissance

For centuries, the acanthus leaf carried a Christian weight, carved into cloisters and painted in sacred texts. But with the dawning of the Renaissance, its meaning shifted once more to an emblem of rebirth, as Italian masters revived the splendor of classical antiquity. In Italy, the relative wealth and stability of the city-states, like Florence and Rome, encouraged patronage of the arts, while scholars and collectors unearthed classical manuscripts, ruins and artifacts that had been hidden or forgotten during the Medieval period. Poggio Broccolini’s rediscovery of Vitruvius’ De architectura inspired artists and architects to revitalize the classical principles of proportion and harmony. Thus, the Greek and Roman revival begins, taking acanthus back to its beginning.

Acanthus ornaments flourished once again, decorating the façades of palazzos and the interiors of chapels. Sculptors carved its curling leaves into marble doorframes and choir stalls, while painters used it to embellish decorative borders and architectural trompe-l’œil. The motif’s vitality and movement made it a natural fit for the Renaissance emphasis on rebirth, renewal and the return of classical beauty. In the Villa Medici, the family positioned ancient Roman acanthus friezes into the walls of the Loggia di Cleopatra. By closely imitating, or even reusing, Greek and Roman prototypes while experimenting with new techniques, Renaissance artists ensured that the leaf’s legacy remained central to the visual language of Western art. The acanthus became a universal shorthand for classical refinement, a status it would retain through the Baroque and beyond.

Dutch Golden Age

In the Netherlands, the flourishing trade and wealth of the Dutch Golden Age (1575-1675) created a new class of patrons eager to display their prosperity through art and decor. Merchants, bankers and civic leaders sought furnishing, silver and interior ornamentation that reflected both their success and their cultivated tastes. The classical motifs, which were long revered in Italy and France by this time, found a natural home in this Dutch environment, with the acanthus leaf among the most popular.

Silverwork reached a boom during this period, as wealthy patrons commissioned silversmiths to make everything from salt holders and tankards to ewers, candlesticks and tableware. In silverwork, acanthus leaves symbolized enduring life and were a common motif in the cartouche decorations of salts, tankards and porringers. Acanthus fell into the Auricular Style vocabulary, characterized by organic decorations and fluid elements derived from animal and human figures.

Furniture makers incorporated carved acanthus motifs into chair backs, cabinet doors and gilt frames, balancing lavish ornamentation with the clean lines preferred in Northern European design. The motif’s versatility allowed it to adapt to both the formal grandeur of civic halls and the more intimate scale of private homes.

 The acanthus leaf, once the province of imperial Rome and Italian palaces, became a symbol of cultured sophistication accessible to the prosperous merchant class. Its presence in Dutch interiors illustrates how a motif with roots in antiquity could travel across borders and centuries, constantly reinvented to suit new audiences and environments. The English, too, adopted and incorporated the acanthus leaf motif into various decorative and fine arts designs. In this way, the acanthus leaf became the unifying motif among all Western art aesthetics.

Modern Luxury: Acanthus Leaves Patterns Today

At M.S. Rau, acanthus motifs appear across a wide range of pieces and centuries. One such piece in the collection is a remarkable oak and walnut tester bed from 1840. The superior craftsmanship and detail are on full display in the carved acanthus leaves on the bedposts and frieze on the base. Each object reflects both the artistic traditions of its time and the motif’s ability to convey beauty and cultural continuity.

Today, the use of acanthus leaves continues to flourish beyond stone and plaster, finding its way into glass, lighting and furniture. For example, contemporary Murano glassblowers have revived the motif spectacularly. For example, a pair of rectangular Murano glass mirrors incorporates stylized acanthus forms reminiscent of reverse-gilded gold leaf frames, merging classic ornament with Venetian glassworking tradition in a delightfully modern way. Meanwhile, a 21st-century wallpaper pattern translates the motif into a stripy and refined interior design. In this way, the acanthus leaf carries a timeless elegance that continues to command attention and value in today’s luxury market.

Interested in more design motifs and decorating ideas? Check out our antique and fine art collections for endless possibilities.