Symbols are arranged from bottom to top, ascending from earthly attachment toward spiritual enlightenment — a vertical map of the soul's journey.
In this panel we see a flower arrangement of more identifiable flowers, which Fath’Ali Sr. created as a reference for future generations. The main field is divided into two sections — the lower third and the upper two thirds — with an additional small section on each side of the top.
In the lower third are earthly objects, which carry the least spiritual significance. In the upper two thirds, the spiritual importance of the flowers increases from the lower toward the upper part of the panel.
The purpose of creating this panel can be found in three ideas:
The upper two corners of the panel contain small-scale versions of the flowers in the main section; but except for the roses, the rest are shown in profile — another indication that this panel was made as a reference. The borders carry their own flower symbols: cherry, tulip, and pomegranate. The panel also bears significant similarities to the royal-tent panels at the Cleveland Museum of Art (see Reference Works), which were probably made at the same time.
“The vase and the body are made of the same four elements: soil, water, fire, and air. To understand one is to understand the other.”
Inspired by Omar Khayyam — the source Fath’Ali Sr. draws on for the vase symbol
The panel is divided into two sections: the main section, and a small annex on each side at the top, together with the borders. The main section is itself divided into two parts — the lower third and the upper two thirds.
The lower third contains eight flowers, two parrots, and a vase. These are all earthly objects and indicate low spiritual significance. They are read from bottom to top.
Each flower carries meaning in Sufi symbolism. I explain them here in more detail, as a reference for the rest of the panels.
In The Conference of the Birds, by the 12th-century Iranian poet Attar, the parrot is a bird that lives long and has no desire for spirituality — content with its life even inside a cage. It symbolizes earthly life and attachment to the material world. For this reason, in most of the panels the parrot looks downward, toward the ground.
The vase is a symbol of the body (zaher). The full-bloom tulip inside it is the hidden desire of the soul to express itself.
The vase in Iranian art and poetry. Making a ceramic vase or pot requires four essential elements — the same four present in every living creature: earth (clay), water, fire, and air. The vase is made of clay, shaped with water, and baked by fire, and fire needs air to burn. The 11th-century Iranian poet Omar Khayyam likened pots and vases to human beings in his poetry.
In making the vase, Fath’Ali Sr. used silver thread instead of silk, to create a reflective, mirror-like surface. (That reflective quality is now significantly compromised by age and oxidation.) When viewers look at the vase, they see their own image in it — telling them that the symbol of the vase is you. Fath’Ali Sr. created this concept two hundred years ago, a mark of his exceptional creativity. In recent art we see the same idea — for instance, "the Bean" (Cloud Gate) in a Chicago park.
Here I describe the flowers as symbols, from bottom to top, in brief; each is treated more fully in its own panel. As noted, the transformation of certain flowers from bud to full blossom — along with their color, location, and combination with other flowers — changes their symbolic meaning.
The top side panels repeat the spiritual ranking of each flower from bottom to top; the only difference is that most flowers are shown in profile (each flower seen from both the front and the side).
The borders alternate pomegranate flowers with cherry blossoms — the cherry blossom as a beginner (a seeker), and the pomegranate as the teacher who guides the seeker on the journey toward unity. In another section of the border, cherry blossoms alternate with tulips, carrying almost the same meaning: morid and morshed (disciple and master).
The mirror, as a reflective household object, has deep roots in Iranian tradition. At a wedding, once the marriage is performed, the bride lifts the veil from her face and sees herself for the first time in the mirror — with new makeup and a new look — and recognizes herself as a new person, with a new life, new relationships, and new responsibilities. In the Persian New Year setting (haft-sin), a mirror is essential. Elaborate mirror-work adorns the rooms of palaces, mosques, shrines, and the houses of the wealthy, and is part of Iran’s architectural heritage. Decorating the back of a mirror as a work of art was part of Qajar artistic culture. All of this reminds us of the special value of the mirror in Iranian tradition.
By adding a mirror to his work, Fath’Ali Sr. created a motif that brought the viewer into the artwork — and deepened its originality as a piece of Iranian art.
Note: this panel has significant similarities with several panels of the royal tents at the Cleveland Museum of Art, which were probably made at the same time.
This reference panel was made alongside Fath’Ali Sr.’s most ambitious work — a Qajar royal ceremonial tent, today in the collection of the Cleveland Museum of Art. Every major symbol documented here appears across the tent’s vast embroidered surfaces; in effect, this panel is the artist’s own key to his masterwork.
Fath’Ali Sr. is credited as the tent’s maker, and his signature survives on one of the two Rashti-Duzi royal tents held at the museum. Seeing the reference panel beside the tent shows how a private “dictionary” of motifs became the working vocabulary of a monumental commission.
Read from left to right, these works trace how Fath’Ali Sr.’s art deepened over time — from the decorative language of the royal-tent panels toward the richer, culturally rooted symbolism of the reference panel. He made that panel on the right as a key: a guide for anyone to read and understand the more meaningful work that came after. In his last two panels, Fath’Ali Sr. also used silver thread to render the vase as a mirror — reflecting the viewer’s own image within it — another progressive idea.
Among Fath’Ali Khomami Sr.’s embroidered panels, this one was made to be read rather than simply admired — and to teach the viewer how to read the rest. It is a reference panel: in effect, the artist’s own dictionary of symbols, a key he created so that his more complex works could be understood. It was made alongside his most ambitious commission, a royal ceremonial tent now in the Cleveland Museum of Art, and seeing the two together shows how a private vocabulary of motifs became the language of a masterpiece.
The panel is organized as an ascent. It is meant to be read from the bottom upward, and that direction is its subject: a journey from earthly life toward union with the divine.
At the base lie the earthly things — a vase, two parrots, and a cluster of low-growing flowers, all of modest spiritual rank. Each carries a precise meaning in Sufi symbolism. The violet, hugging the ground beneath its heart-shaped leaves, is humility. The parrot, drawn from Attar’s Conference of the Birds, is a long-lived bird content with its comfortable existence even inside a cage; it stands for attachment to the material world, and so it looks downward, toward the earth.
The vase is the most remarkable symbol of all. It represents the body — a vessel formed, like every living thing, from the four elements of earth, water, fire, and air. The eleventh-century poet Omar Khayyam had already compared clay pots to human beings, and Fath’Ali Sr. extends the thought in a way no one expects. He worked the vase in silver thread rather than silk, giving it a reflective, mirror-like surface. A viewer who looked into it would see their own face — a quiet message that the symbol of the vase is you. He achieved this effect roughly two hundred years before modern artists reached for the same idea.
Above the earthly zone, the flowers rise toward higher meaning, and both their order and their stage of bloom matter. A tulip bowed to the ground signifies humility; standing straight and fully open, it resembles the written word “Allah” and carries the highest meaning of all. At the summit, a crown of pomegranate blossoms in seven layers marks the seven stages of the journey from hidden desire to purification, and a crown of roses in five layers marks the five stages of a seeker’s training under a master. The composition evolves, deliberately, from simple to complex and from the lowest spiritual rank to the highest; the side panels repeat the same ascent, most of their flowers shown in profile. Even the borders carry the lesson, pairing the pomegranate — the teacher — with the cherry blossom — the disciple.
What distinguishes the panel is not any single motif but the design behind it: a complete and consistent map of the soul’s progress, in which every ornament is also an idea. And in the mirrored vase, Fath’Ali Sr. did something stranger than decoration — he placed the viewer inside the work. Two centuries ago, in a workshop in Rasht, he made a reference for his own art that turns out to be a reflection of ours, quietly asking each person who stands before it to find themselves in the glass.