Almost Unimaginable Beauty and Opulence: the Paradise Pleasure Gardens of Ancient Persia

Nine paradise gardens in Iran are collectively listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site, the Eram Garden (pictured above) built in the 12th century is one of the most splendid.  

By Peter Edwell

Some of the most enduring ancient myths in the Persian world were centred around gardens of almost unimaginable beauty and opulence.

The biblical Garden of Eden and the Epic of Gilgamesh’s Garden of the Gods are prominent examples. In these myths, paradise was an opulent garden of tranquillity and abundance.

But how did this concept of paradise originate? And what did these beautiful gardens look and feel like in antiquity?

Pairi-daēza is where we get the word ‘paradise’

The English word “paradise” derives from an old Persian word pairidaeza or pairi-daēza, which translates as “enclosed garden”.

The origins of paradise gardens lie in Mesopotamia and Persia (modern Iraq and Iran).

The Garden of the Gods from the Epic of Gilgamesh from about 2000 BCE is one of the earliest attested in literature.

Some argue it was also the inspiration for the legend of the Garden of Eden in the book of Genesis. In both of these stories, paradise gardens functioned as a type of utopia.

When the Achaemenid kings ruled ancient Persia (550–330 BCE), the development of royal paradise gardens grew significantly. The paradise garden of the Persian king, Cyrus the Great, who ruled around 550 BCE, is the earliest physical example yet discovered.

During his reign, Cyrus built a palace complex at Pasargadae in Persia. The entire complex was adorned with gardens which included canals, bridges, pathways and a large pool.

One of the gardens measured 150 metres by 120 metres (1.8 hectares). Archaeologists found evidence for the garden’s division into four parts, symbolising the four quarters of Cyrus’s vast empire.

Technological wonders

A feature of paradise gardens in Persia was their defiance of often harsh, dry landscapes.

This required ingenuity in supplying large volumes of water required for the gardens. Pasargadae was supplied by a sophisticated hydraulic system, which diverted water from the nearby Pulvar River.

The tradition continued throughout the Achaemenid period. Cyrus the Younger, probably a descendant of Cyrus the Great, had a palace at Sardis (in modern Turkey), which included a paradise garden.

According to the ancient Greek writer, Xenophon, the Spartan general Lysander visited Cyrus at the palace around 407 BCE.

When he walked in the garden, astounded by its intricate design and beauty, Lysander asked who planned it. Cyrus replied that he had designed the garden himself and planted its trees.

Perhaps the ultimate ancient paradise garden was the legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

In one tradition, the gardens were built by the neo-Babylonian King, Nebuchadnezzar II (605–562 BCE).

The gardens were so magnificent and technologically advanced they were later counted among the Seven Wonders of the World.

Perhaps the ultimate ancient paradise garden was the legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon. mikroman6/Getty Images

In a later Roman account, the Hanging Gardens consisted of vaulted terraces resting on cube-shaped pillars.

Flowing water was a key feature, with elaborate machines raising water from the Euphrates river. Fully grown trees with vast root systems were supported by the terraces.

In another account, the Hanging Gardens were built by a Syrian king for his Persian wife to remind her of her homeland.

When the Sasanian dynasty (224–651 CE) came to power in Persia, its kings also built paradise gardens. The 147-hectare palace of Khosrow II (590–628 CE) at Qasr-e Shirin was almost entirely set in a paradise garden.

The paradise gardens were rich in symbolic significance. Their division into four parts symbolised imperial power, the cardinal directions and the four elements in Zoroastrian lore: air, earth, water and fire.

The gardens also played a religious role, offering a glimpse of what eternity might look like in the afterlife.

They were also a refuge in the midst of a harsh world and unforgiving environments. Gilgamesh sought solace and immortality in the Garden of the Gods following the death of his friend Enkidu.

According to the Bible, God himself walked in the Garden of Eden in the cool of the evening.

But in both cases, disappointment and distress followed.

Gilgamesh discovered the non-existence of immortality. God discovered the sin of Adam and Eve.

Paradise on Earth

The tradition of paradise gardens continued after the Islamic conquest of Persia in the 7th century CE.

The four-part gardens (known as chahar-bagh) of the Persian kingdoms were also a key feature of the Islamic period.

The Garden of Paradise described in the Quran comprised four gardens divided into two pairs. The four-part garden became symbolic of paradise on Earth.

The tradition of paradise gardens has continued in Iran to the present day.

Nine paradise gardens in Iran are collectively listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site. The Eram garden, built in about the 12th century CE, and the 19th-century Bagh-e Shahzadeh are among the most splendid.

Today, the word “paradise” evokes a broader range of images and experiences. It can foster many different images of idyllic physical and spiritual settings.

But the magnificent enclosed gardens of the ancient Persian world still inspire us to imagine what paradise on Earth might look and feel like.

Peter Edwell, Associate Professor in Ancient History, Macquarie University

Often Overlooked, Tudor Art Richly Reflected a Turbulent Century of Growth and Change

Elizabeth I as the Queen of Love and Beauty c.1600 possibly by Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger. also known as the Rainbow Portrait. Hatfield House, Hertfordshire, England.  

By Christina Faraday, University of Cambridge

It can sometimes seem like the Tudors are everywhere, at least in Britain: on television, in bookshops and in historic houses and galleries across the country. Yet within the discipline of art history, appreciation for pictures and objects produced in England between 1485 and 1603 has been slow to take hold.

The Embarkation of Henry VIII at Dover by artist

unknown, c. 1520-40 was meant to show the 

military might of the Tudors. Hampton Court

Palace, London. 

For a long time, narratives about the popular impetus behind the Reformation led some historians to believe art was unwelcome in Protestant England, for fear it would inspire people to commit idolatry.

Meanwhile, long-held scholarly prejudices towards easel paintings and sculptures (which, excepting portraits, are few and far between in Tudor England) and against “decorative” arts and household objects, reinforced the notion that the country was practically barren of visual art in the 16th century.

Happily, times are now changing. In the last few years, the period’s beautiful and intriguing artworks have been receiving more attention in mainstream art history, not least in the New York Metropolitan Museum’s 2022 exhibition The Tudors: Art and Majesty in Renaissance England.

Still, to date there has never been a comprehensive introduction to Tudor art aimed at the general public. My new book, The Story of Tudor Art will be the first to unite artworks and contexts across the whole of the “long Tudor century”, looking at the works of famous names like Hans Holbein the Younger and Nicholas Hilliard, but also beyond them, to interior furnishings, fashion and objects by unknown makers.

The book considers art made for the royal court, but also for increasing numbers of “middling” professionals, who embraced art and material objects to mark their new-found status in society.

Rather than appreciating art on purely aesthetic terms, Tudor viewers had practical expectations for the objects they owned and commissioned. Art was primarily a mode of communication, akin to speeches or the written word. Images had an advantage, however, as vision was considered the highest of the senses, exerting the greatest power over the mind.

Henry VIII AT 49 years old, by Hans Holbein

the Younger, 1540. Palazzo Barberini, Rome.

Images could shape the viewer morally – for example, through exposure to long galleries full of portraits of the great and the good, where viewers could learn about them and emulate their virtues. But this shaping was also physical, as with stories of pregnant women who, viewing certain images, were thought to unconsciously shape the foetus in their womb, a phenomenon known as “maternal impression”.

Most casual observers probably recognise Holbein’s magnificent portraits of Henry VIII, and some of Elizabeth I’s many painted personae. But even for aficionados, artworks produced under Henry VII, Edward VI and Mary I remain relatively obscure. 

One of the book’s aims is to draw attention to these overlooked periods, showing that even during the so-called mid-Tudor crisis (when England had four different rulers in just 11 years), art and architecture remained a priority for shaping narratives about individuals and institutions such as the Church.

Henry VII emerges as a canny patron of visual arts, using various means to promote himself in his new role as king of England. Artists looked to legendary characters, ancient and recent, to bolster his tentative claim to the throne.

Popular legends originating in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s (largely fabricated) “British history”, resurface in a genealogical manuscript in the British Library showing Henry VII’s descent from Brutus, the legendary Trojan founder of Britain. This positions Henry as the Welsh messiah destined to rescue Britain from its Saxon invaders.

Architectural patronage at Westminster Abbey in London and King’s College Chapel in Cambridge aligned him with his half-uncle and Lancastrian predecessor, Henry VI. Rumours of miracles had been swirling about him since his probable murder in 1471. Meanwhile, reforms to the coinage included the first accurate royal likeness on English coins, changing the generic face used by his predecessors into a recognisable portrait of Henry VII himself.

The Protestant monarch Edward VI and his regime passed the first official laws against religious images, resulting in the tearing down of religious images and icons in cathedrals and parish churches. But Edward VI’s reign was not only a time of destruction. Under the influence of the two successive leaders of his council, elite patrons began to embrace classical architecture, a development that may relate to Protestant ideas about restoring the church to the time of Christ’s apostles.

Edward’s successor, Mary I, a staunch Catholic, made many attempts to undo the work of her Protestant-minded predecessor, including legislation to restore some church images. Perhaps more significantly, her marriage to Philip II of Spain brought England into closer artistic alignment with continental Europe. This saw a flood of artworks and artists associated with the Habsburg empire enter the country, including the first Titian portrait ever seen in England.

Due to the long neglect of Tudor art in mainstream art history, a vast amount of research remains to be done. Even within the better-studied reigns of Henry VIII and Elizabeth I, discoveries are waiting, and whole avenues of cultural and intellectual interpretation are yet to be explored.

Christina Faraday, Research Fellow in History of Art, University of Cambridge

In Full Stride: Equestrian Energy Meets Bohemian Rebellion in Shiatzy Chen’s SS26 Paris Collection

Long, swinging hair and natural make-up added to the feeling of a Seventies ethos of liberation in Shiatzy Chen's new collection in Paris. Photograph (above) by Jay Zoo for DAM.  

Shiatzy Chen’s Spring/Summer 2026 collection at Paris Fashion Week, captured the untamed energy of the horse and the free-spirited ethos of 1970s bohemian style. Blending flowing fabrics, intricate embroidery, and equestrian-inspired details, the designs merged Eastern craftsmanship with Western silhouettes. Through a palette that ranged from earthy neutrals to vibrant neons, and playful combinations of structured tailoring and relaxed layering, the Taiwanese designer celebrated movement, individuality, and cultural dialogue, delivering a collection that was at once romantic, bold, and contemporary. Story by Jeanne-Marie Cilento. Photographs by Jay Zoo 

Leather straps and belts

gave the collection an

equestrian theme. 

CALLED Unstill, Shiatzy Chen's new collection was designed to suggest the energy of a horse in full stride. Drawing on equestrian symbolism to inspire her work, Chen’s vision merged the romantic rebellion of the 1970s with modern tailoring, creating an East-meets-West aesthetic that felt both liberated and finely crafted.

From the first look, the collection exuded movement and freedom. Textiles such as chiffon, lace, and lightweight cotton-linen moved with each step, punctuated by the structured curves of saddle-inspired pockets and tailored flares. 

The designer's signature embroidery appeared throughout, not as ornamentation, but as storytelling, adding a certain vitality to each garment. Multi-directional patterns and ribbon detailing recalled the handcraft of folk art, while maintaining a sophistication suitable for Paris’ discerning fashion audience.

Color played a central role in the collection’s narrative. Tobacco browns and coffee tones suggested the earthy landscape of a sun-drenched horizon, while blues, fuchsias, and cobalt punctuated the neutrals like bursts of bright sunlight on a wild meadow. Black and white served as grounding elements, echoing the elegance and discipline inherent in Chen’s tailoring. Together, the palette reflected the duality of the collection: daydreaming wanderers and nocturnal revelers, pastoral calm and disco vibrancy coexisting in balance.

There was a freedom to mix and match, with unexpected pairings such as crochet tops with suiting or pajamas as outerwear, a playful nod to the era of bohemian experimentation.

Silk scarves and softly

flowing, floral designs

enhanced the 70's style.

Flared pants paired with cropped vests, flowing lace blouses over soft skirts, and layered long-on-long looks created a sense of casual sophistication. 

Menswear-inspired pieces were equally dynamic: cropped jackets, leather trousers, cargo-style curves, and bell-bottoms fused utilitarian strength with poetic grace. The freedom to mix and match was emphasized, allowing for unexpected pairings such as crochet tops with suiting or pajamas as outerwear, a playful nod to the era of bohemian experimentation.

Accessories reinforced the equestrian and hippie motifs. Triangular silk scarves became headbands or neckerchiefs; saddle-shaped bags with dimensional clasps offered a subtle nod to the horse motif; while jewellery repurposed bits and horseshoes into necklaces, brooches, and belts. Footwear included reimagined Mary Janes, platform sandals, and brogues, some with metallic accents, merging functionality with exuberant style.

What set this collection apart was Chen's ability to channel her horse-inspired themes into designs that evoked a sense of liberation. Balancing her feel for ethereal romance and bold physicality, the designer was able to fuse Eastern sensibilities with a Western bohemian spirit. In Unstill, Shiatzy Chen once again demonstrated why she is one of the few designers who can continually reinvent the dialogue between heritage and modernity and East and West, in new and interesting ways.   

Scroll down to see more highlights from the Shiatzy Chen SS26 show at the Palais de Tokyo in Paris

Backstage at Shiatzy Chen before the Spring/Summer 2026 show at the Palais de Tokyo in Paris