The Hidden History of Female Botanists: Women, Science, and Botanical Art

Botany has long been one of the few scientific fields where women not only participated but, in some cases, excelled. From the 18th century onward, female botanists and botanical illustrators made significant contributions—far more than in many other branches of science.

But why botany? Was it because plants and flowers were considered a harmless, acceptable subject for women’s study? Or was it because, long before botany became a formal science, women had already built a deep and practical understanding of the plant world?

From Herbalists to Female Botanists: How Women Built Knowledge of the Plant World

For centuries, women worked with plants—not in laboratories, but in kitchens, gardens, and sickrooms. They were healers, midwives, and herbalists, preserving generational knowledge of medicinal plants and their uses. They distilled tinctures, identified poisons, and recorded remedies long before male-dominated institutions rebranded medicine as a scientific discipline. Yet, their knowledge—once valued—became dangerous. The same expertise that allowed them to heal also made them targets.

By the 16th and 17th centuries, as medicine professionalized, women’s plant knowledge—especially when practiced outside formal institutions—was met with deep suspicion. Across Europe, tens of thousands of women were executed for witchcraft, many accused of using herbs for illicit purposes. Some were midwives blamed for failed births; others were widows or unmarried women who practiced healing independently of church or state control.

Gentile Budrioli, a highly educated woman from Bologna, was one such casualty. Bologna, home to one of the oldest universities in Europe, had been a rare place where women could engage in intellectual pursuits. Budrioli, trusted for her botanical knowledge, became an advisor and friend to Ginevra Sforza, the powerful wife of Bologna’s ruler. But influence could be dangerous.

When she successfully treated and healed a child of Bologna’s ruler, suspicions turned against her. Instead of being celebrated, she was accused of having caused the illness herself and branded a maga scelerata (wicked sorceress). In 1498, she was condemned by the Inquisition and burned at the stake.

Not all women who worked with plants met such brutal ends. Some found protection within convents, where female monastic communities cultivated extensive herb gardens and compiled illustrated manuscripts on medicinal plants. Others, like Elizabeth Blackwell, used their botanical expertise in ways that fit within the emerging structures of science. In the 18th century, Blackwell—desperate to raise money after her husband was imprisoned—produced A Curious Herbal, one of the first comprehensive illustrated guides to medicinal plants. Her work became essential for physicians and apothecaries, yet her name remains little known outside botanical circles.

The transition from traditional healing to institutional science did not erase women’s knowledge of plants, but it did change how they were allowed to participate. Botany, unlike anatomy or chemistry, remained accessible to women because it was seen as an extension of gardening, an acceptable domestic pursuit rather than a hard science. Women who might have been midwives or healers in an earlier era instead became botanical illustrators or amateur naturalists. Their contributions—though rarely recognized as “scientific”—were critical in documenting and classifying plant life.

The question remains: why botany? Why were women drawn to this field, and why was society willing to grant them a foothold in it when so many other areas of science remained closed? The answers lie in the intersections of gender, education, and cultural shifts—turning what was once seen as domestic knowledge into scientific inquiry.

The Rise of Female Botanists

By the 18th century, the study of plants had shifted from practical knowledge—rooted in healing and domestic life—toward a more formalized science. Medicine, once intertwined with herbal traditions, was consolidated under university-trained physicians. Chemistry and anatomy required laboratories and dissection rooms, spaces that women were barred from. But botany? That remained open, at least in part. It was a science that could be pursued at home, in gardens and greenhouses, requiring nothing more than careful observation and patience—skills already cultivated in embroidery, gardening, and other so-called “feminine” pastimes.

And so, botany became one of the few sciences that women were encouraged to engage with, not as scientists, but as gentlewomen with refined interests. Studying plants was seen as an extension of moral education, an elegant pursuit that aligned with notions of order, beauty, and virtue. Books on botany framed the study of nature as a lesson in morality, reinforcing the idea that careful classification of flowers and leaves could cultivate discipline and grace. Botany was encouraged because it was safe—there was no need for anatomical studies, no controversial theories about evolution (yet), and no direct competition with male-dominated fields. But that did not mean women were merely passive participants.

Notable female botanists who made groundbreaking contributions

One of the first to challenge the boundaries of botanical study was Maria Sibylla Merian, a German naturalist who, unlike her contemporaries who studied plants from the comfort of their estates, embarked on an expedition to Dutch Guiana in 1699. Her research overturned long-held beliefs about insect life cycles, demonstrating that butterflies and moths did not spontaneously generate from mud, as was widely assumed. She documented not just individual plants but the ecosystems they were part of, linking flowers to the insects that pollinated them. It was a perspective that male taxonomists, focused on rigid classification, often overlooked.

Merian’s work laid the groundwork for later women in botany, though most would not be afforded the same freedom to travel. Instead, they studied from home, sending specimens and illustrations to male colleagues who took credit for their discoveries. Catharina Helena Dörrien, for instance, produced over 1,400 botanical illustrations and was the first woman to name a fungal species, yet she remained largely unrecognized outside academic circles.

Mary Agnes Chase, who would go on to become one of the most respected experts on grasses, was initially hired not as a botanist but as an illustrator—her scientific credentials constantly in question, even as her expertise surpassed that of her male peers.

If botany was seen as an “acceptable” field for women, that acceptance had clear limits. Even in the 19th century, women were still referred to as amateurs, no matter how groundbreaking their work. Most were excluded from professional scientific societies. Their findings were published under male names. In England, women were encouraged to collect specimens, but not to theorize. In Germany, they were celebrated as meticulous illustrators, but not as discoverers.

18th-century female botanists in England, Germany, and the Netherlands

There was another curious pattern: while early female scientists had often emerged from Catholic countries—Italy and France in the 16th and 17th centuries—by the 18th and 19th centuries, most prominent female botanists were from England, Germany, and the Netherlands. Religion and education may have played a role. Protestant countries, particularly England, emphasized literacy for women more than Catholic Europe, where formal education remained tied to convents. Scientific institutions in Catholic nations, deeply entrenched in male-only traditions, left little room for women. In contrast, the rise of scientific societies and informal study circles in England and Germany allowed women to contribute—though still from the margins.

Despite these barriers, women continued to shape the field in ways that went beyond mere documentation. Ellen Hutchins, an Irish botanist, specialized in the study of seaweed and lichens, identifying hundreds of species and providing meticulous illustrations that made classification possible. Katharine Murray Lyell, fascinated by ferns, published on their global distribution during the height of Victorian Pteridomania—a craze that saw ferns as both scientific specimens and fashionable décor. And in Australia, Rica Erickson turned her attention to native flora, recognizing the unique biodiversity of a continent often ignored by European scientists.

Women had carved out a place for themselves in botany, but they were still treated as observers, not authorities. Their expertise was appreciated, but their names rarely appeared alongside the men who controlled academic recognition. The same was true in art.

Women and Botanical Art: The Nude, the Academy, and Still Life

If botany became a rare space where women could engage in scientific inquiry, botanical illustration offered them a similar foothold in the visual arts. But while the two disciplines were intertwined, they were not seen as equal. The line between scientific documentation and decorative artistry was often drawn along gendered expectations.

Women were largely excluded from academic training in the human form. The study of the nude model, considered essential for mastering anatomy and history painting—the highest-ranking genre—was off-limits. Without access to these foundational lessons, women were steered toward still life and floral painting, genres seen as requiring skill but not intellectual depth. Flowers, in particular, were considered an acceptable subject: delicate, ornamental, and, most importantly, non-controversial.

Yet, within this seemingly constrained space, women created work that was anything but trivial. Giovanna Garzoni, a Baroque artist active in 17th-century European courts, is a case in point. Her botanical still lifes were not only exquisite but scientifically precise, capturing plants with the same accuracy expected of early botanical illustrators. In the Netherlands, Maria van Oosterwijck and Alida Withoos built successful careers painting meticulously detailed floral compositions, their work sought after by collectors across Europe.

One of the few women to receive official recognition was Madeleine Françoise Basseporte, who became the Royal Painter for the King’s Garden in France. She was an exception in a field where female artists were rarely granted formal appointments. Despite her role, botanical illustration was still often framed as an extension of embroidery or craft—requiring patience and precision but not the intellectual rigor associated with “serious” art.

The scientific significance of these works, however, was undeniable. Maria Moninckx, creator of the Moninckx Atlas, worked alongside her father to produce a nine-volume botanical record of Amsterdam’s Hortus Medicus. The illustrations were essential for plant classification, bridging art and science in ways that contemporary institutions failed to acknowledge. Similarly, Henriëtte Geertruida Knip, a Dutch flower painter, brought the same level of detail to her studies of plants, though her works were often regarded as decorative rather than scholarly.

By the 18th and 19th centuries, women’s contributions to botanical illustration had expanded beyond Europe. In Canada, Maria Morris Miller gained recognition not only as an artist but as a scientific contributor. Her botanical paintings were detailed enough to be used as reference material, earning her the support of Queen Victoria and establishing her as one of the country’s most respected botanical illustrators.

In the United States, Deborah Griscom Passmore worked for the U.S. Department of Agriculture, where she illustrated over 1,500 plant species, many of them fruit-bearing crops. Her precise watercolors became essential for scientific identification and agricultural records, forming part of the USDA’s vast Pomological Watercolor Collection—a visual archive still in use today.

Women like Miller and Passmore produced work that was undeniably scientific, yet botanical illustration remained categorized as a feminine pursuit, separate from botany as a formal discipline.

Women in Scientific Expeditions: Observers, Assistants, and Uncredited Scientists

As European nations expanded their empires in the 18th and 19th centuries, the pursuit of botanical knowledge became deeply entangled with colonial exploration. Expeditions set out to collect and classify plants from across the globe, feeding the scientific ambitions of European institutions and the economic demands of industries reliant on spices, dyes, and medicinal herbs.

While male botanists and naturalists received credit for these discoveries, women were often integral to the process—sometimes as the wives and daughters of scientists, other times as assistants or unacknowledged contributors.

Women as assistants, illustrators, and unofficial botanists in scientific expeditions

Many women participated in expeditions through family ties. It was common for naturalists’ wives to accompany their husbands on scientific journeys, managing collections, preserving specimens, and even conducting research of their own. Anne Rudge, for example, worked as a botanical illustrator for her husband Edward Rudge, a British botanist. While his name appeared in published works, her detailed illustrations and scientific documentation were essential to his research.

Susan Fereday, who moved to Tasmania with her husband, collected and recorded marine algae, contributing to the broader study of Australian flora. In both cases, their work remained in the shadows of their male counterparts, despite its scientific value.

Women also played an important role in studying plant knowledge beyond European traditions. Some female botanists documented how Indigenous and enslaved communities used plants for food, medicine, and textiles—insights that often went uncredited in the scientific literature.

Their observations helped bridge the gap between European botany and the deep-rooted ecological knowledge of the regions they explored. The extent of their contributions, however, is difficult to trace, as much of this research was absorbed into the work of male scientists or overlooked entirely.

Botanical gardens became a critical space where women could engage with botany in a way that was both educational and socially acceptable. Places like Kew Gardens in England and the Jardin des Plantes in France functioned as sites of scientific research, but they also provided an informal learning environment for women. While women were not admitted as formal students in universities or scientific academies, they could study and sketch plants in these gardens, refining their skills as botanists and botanical illustrators.

Some women were able to transcend societal expectations and conduct independent research. Marianne North, a British botanical artist, defied conventions by traveling extensively without a male chaperone, documenting the flora of South America, Africa, and Asia. Unlike many of her contemporaries, she did not merely illustrate plants brought back to Europe—she painted them in their natural environments, capturing the ecological context in which they grew. Her work was so significant that she was granted the rare honor of establishing her own gallery at Kew Gardens, where her paintings remain on display today.

Jeanne Baret: The first woman to circumnavigate the globe

Others found more radical ways to circumvent societal restrictions. Jeanne Baret, an 18th-century French botanist, became the first woman to circumnavigate the globe—by disguising herself as a man. She joined the 1766 expedition of Philibert Commerson, collecting and classifying plants across South America and the Pacific. While Commerson was officially credited with these discoveries, Baret played an instrumental role in assembling one of the most significant botanical collections of the time. Her contributions were largely ignored in her lifetime, though in recent years, historians have revisited her story as a remarkable case of perseverance in the face of rigid gender norms.

Other women, like Elsie Elizabeth Esterhuysen, dedicated their careers to fieldwork, collecting thousands of plant specimens that enriched scientific institutions, even if their names were rarely attached to major discoveries.

These women—whether working in the background as illustrators and assistants or forging their own paths in defiance of social expectations—were crucial to the expansion of botanical knowledge. Their work not only contributed to science but also shaped how plants were studied, preserved, and understood across different cultures and continents.

Barriers to Recognition: Gender Exclusion in Scientific Societies

For much of the 18th and 19th centuries, women interested in botany faced an insurmountable barrier: institutional exclusion. Despite their expertise, female botanists were routinely denied access to scientific societies, formal education, and the right to publish under their own names.

Even as their contributions to botany—whether through fieldwork, classification, or botanical illustration—became undeniable, the idea of women as scientists remained controversial.

Why female botanists in history were denied academic recognition

Scientific institutions enforced these barriers explicitly. The Linnean Society of London, one of the most prestigious botanical institutions, did not admit women until 1905. The Royal Society, founded in the 17th century, only opened its doors to female members in 1945. Women were encouraged to collect specimens, document plant life, and illustrate botanical discoveries, but they were rarely allowed to author scientific papers or present their findings. This rigid divide forced many to publish under male pseudonyms or in unofficial capacities.

For some women, the lack of institutional recognition meant their research remained in obscurity. Mary Elizabeth Banning, an American mycologist specializing in fungi, was repeatedly dismissed by the scientific establishment. She painstakingly documented fungal species, producing meticulous illustrations and research, yet she found no avenue for formal publication. Her contributions were largely ignored until long after her death.

Even when women produced groundbreaking work, their discoveries were often attributed to male scientists. Beatrix Potter, now remembered for her children’s books, was also a Victorian female scientist with a deep knowledge of mycology. In 1897, she submitted a paper on spore germination in fungi to the Linnean Society, but as women were not allowed to present research, the paper had to be read aloud by a man. It was dismissed, and Potter eventually abandoned science for illustration, though her work was later validated.

Victorian female scientists and the fight for professional legitimacy

Mary Elizabeth Barber, however, managed to break through this barrier—though not without difficulty. A British female botanist who spent most of her life in South Africa, Barber made significant contributions to botany, ornithology, and entomology. She corresponded with leading scientists of her time, including Charles Darwin, who cited her work on bird behavior. Yet, like many women of her era, she struggled for professional recognition.

In 1878, after years of contributing to botanical research, Barber was invited to join the South African Philosophical Society—a rare and exceptional honor at the time. The Linnean Society in London would not admit women for another 27 years, highlighting how certain colonial scientific communities were, in some cases, more progressive than their European counterparts. However, Barber’s reaction to her nomination reveals the complex gender politics of her time.

“I have no objection… and I don’t see any reason why a Lady should in a quiet way be a member of any scientific society… I do not by any means approve of ladies coming publicly forward and usurping the places of men by preaching, making speeches, etc., but I don’t see why they should not belong to any society that they are qualified for, and in a quiet way enjoy the privileges too.”

Barber’s statement reflects the tensions faced by 19th-century female scientists—women who sought inclusion in male-dominated fields but were also bound by societal expectations of female modesty and propriety. Her words suggest a careful negotiation: she advocates for women’s right to membership, yet distances herself from overt feminist activism. It’s possible she believed that female botanists in history would be more readily accepted if they adhered to traditional gender roles rather than challenging them directly.

Her stance was not unique. Many pioneering women in science, including those in botany, had to walk a fine line between asserting their expertise and avoiding accusations of being “too radical.”

While Barber’s acceptance into the South African Philosophical Society was a landmark moment, it was also a reminder that even trailblazers sometimes had to conform to the biases of their time in order to be heard.

Barber’s impact extended beyond South Africa. She later became the first female member of the Ornithologischer Verein in Vienna, another male-dominated scientific society. These incremental victories paved the way for future generations, even as the larger battle for gender equality in science was far from over.

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Breaking the Glass Ceiling: How Female Botanists Fought for Equality

For female botanists in history, the struggle for scientific recognition often overlapped with broader battles for women’s rights. The 19th and early 20th centuries saw women pushing against institutional barriers in both academia and politics. Many of the same women who fought to be acknowledged as scientists were also involved in the suffrage movement, labor rights, and early environmental activism.

How notable female botanists were also pioneers in women’s rights

Women in botany had long occupied a precarious space—allowed to observe, illustrate, and collect specimens but rarely acknowledged as scientists in their own right. When institutions like the Linnean Society of London finally opened their doors to female members in 1905, it was not just a victory for botany but for women’s intellectual and professional autonomy.

Matilda Smith’s admission to Kew Gardens as its first official artist marked a similar turning point. For decades, women botanical illustrators had been essential to the documentation and classification of plants, yet their contributions were framed as supporting roles rather than as scientific work. Smith’s recognition was more than symbolic—it signaled that women could hold institutional positions based on expertise rather than patronage or familial connections.

The link between botanical science and the suffrage movement

For some, the fight for inclusion extended beyond scientific institutions. Mary Agnes Chase, one of the most accomplished American female botanists, risked both her career and freedom for the suffrage movement. Arrested for protesting, she endured hunger strikes and police brutality, all while continuing her botanical research. Chase’s story is a testament to the reality that many women in botany saw their struggle as twofold: the right to be acknowledged as scientists and the right to be recognized as full citizens.

Others channeled their scientific knowledge into environmental advocacy. Olive Pink, a botanical illustrator and anthropologist, used her expertise to campaign for Indigenous land rights in Australia, advocating for conservation policies that protected both native plant species and the people who relied on them. Similarly, Blanche Ames Ames, an American suffragist and conservationist, worked to preserve wetlands, merging botanical science with early environmentalism.

The link between botany and activism was not just a product of individual conviction but reflected a deeper historical pattern. The Victorian suffragettes famously employed the symbolism of plants and flowers in their campaigns—violets for loyalty, primroses for perseverance, and the now-iconic green, white, and purple hues to signal their political cause. In many ways, women’s deep historical connection to plants extended beyond the laboratory or garden; it was woven into the language of social change itself.

Even those who did not engage directly in political activism made lasting contributions. Amanda Almira Newton, a botanical illustrator for the U.S. Department of Agriculture, meticulously documented thousands of plant species, ensuring that scientific records reflected the work of women as much as men. Her illustrations preserved botanical knowledge for future generations, even as the names attached to plant discoveries often remained those of male scientists.

The Legacy of Female Botanists and Botanical Illustrators: Environmentalism and Conservation

By the twentieth century, female botanists and women botanical illustrators were no longer confined to the margins of scientific discourse. These notable female botanists had carved out spaces in academic institutions, research expeditions, and conservation efforts, influencing how the natural world was studied, documented, and preserved.

Their work extended beyond scientific discovery—many became pioneers in early environmentalism, using their expertise to advocate for plant conservation and biodiversity.

One of the most influential Victorian female botanists, Lilian Snelling, set a new standard for botanical illustration through her meticulous watercolors for Curtis’s Botanical Magazine. Similarly, Margaret Flockton, the first botanical illustrator at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Sydney, created highly detailed depictions of Australian flora that remain essential references today. Their contributions helped elevate botanical art by women from a decorative pursuit to an indispensable scientific tool.

How female botanical illustrators shaped plant conservation efforts

Beyond illustration, women botanists in history played an integral role in shaping conservation efforts. Edith Clements, the first woman in the U.S. to earn a Ph.D. in botany, pioneered ecological studies that examined plant life in relation to its environment—a foundational concept for modern ecology. In South America, Margaret Mee documented endangered species in the Amazon rainforest, raising awareness of deforestation at a time when environmental conservation was still an emerging field.

In Australia, Olive Muriel Pink demonstrated how female botanists could bridge the gap between botany and activism. As both a botanical illustrator and an advocate for Indigenous land rights, she championed the protection of native flora and the cultural significance of plants in Aboriginal communities. Other famous women botanists, such as Alice Eastwood, played a more direct role in preserving botanical knowledge—she famously saved invaluable herbarium specimens after the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, ensuring that future researchers would have access to a wealth of botanical data.

The legacy of female botanical illustrators and women scientists continues to shape modern environmentalism. Figures like Marjorie Netta Blamey, one of the most widely published botanical artists, created field guides that remain essential for plant identification. Meanwhile, Regina Olson Hughes, a deaf scientific illustrator, overcame barriers in both gender and disability to become a leading figure in botanical art for the USDA.

Today, the intersection of botany, feminism, and conservation remains relevant. The historical association between women and plant study—once confined to the domestic sphere—gradually expanded into scientific and environmental activism. While Victorian female botanists helped normalize women’s engagement with science, later generations of female scientists and conservationists built on this legacy, advocating not just for plant preservation but for broader social and ecological justice.

The rise of ecofeminism, a movement that connects environmentalism with gender equality, reflects this long-standing relationship between women and nature. Many female botanists and botanical illustrators have played key roles in conservation, from Margaret Mee’s fight to protect the Amazon to the continued efforts of modern women scientists working to document and preserve plant biodiversity. 

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