The acorns, the rose, and the star

A comparative structural analysis of the Coronation Emblem, Terra Carta Seal, and Astra Carta Seal designed by LoveFrom

I started preparing this article in early May 2023. It was originally conceived as a comparative analysis of the Coronation Emblem and Terra Carta Seal alone, as the Astra Carta would only be unveiled two months later. I decided to keep its original structure intact while adding a fourth section for the new seal. In this way, of course, the inquiry does not follow the most logical path, but I think its current articulation sheds a far more interesting light on the analytical process, which is often marked by new discoveries and unexpected changes in trajectory. Enjoy the read!

Please note that the figures in this article were assembled for research and educational purposes only, under the guidelines of fair use. No copyright infringement is intended. All rights and credits for the original materials go, of course, to their rightful owners. For any related inquiries, please feel free to reach out at idea@federicoflorindo.com.

1 — Introduction

Usually (okay, maybe always), when I’m deeply interested in something, I try to understand its structure. I guess it’s just the way in which my brain works, and I know I am in good and abundant company. The structure of something reveals how — and in some lucky cases why — that something is the way it is. Why it looks like that, why it feels or works like that. Understanding the structure of an object means identifying its parts and their relationships in space and in time. Causes and effects. In the case of man-made things, of artifacts, those relationships reveal bits of productive processes and, therefore, shadows of thought processes. It’s a bit like trying to understand the night sky and its mechanisms by looking at it from a keyhole, though: grasping its entirety is ultimately impossible, but the crumbs of knowledge we can derive from such an observation are — in the lack of better viewpoints — so very precious and gratifying.

Whenever I see a design that really grabs my attention, I soon attempt at breaking it down into components and movements that are small and simple enough to reveal some of the underlying structure and bits of the chaîne opératoire. In some way it is similar to figuring out the ratios and proportions that make up a harmony: there’s no need to do it to experience the harmony itself, but that’s the way to get a more profound understanding of the hows and whys.

When LoveFrom’s (↗) design for the 2023 Coronation Emblem was revealed, the tingling on my fingertips suggested that I would not very long resist the temptation to measure, dissect, and get into the tiniest of details. That temptation is the seed from which this article sprouted.

2 — How it started: analyzing the Coronation Emblem

2.1 — Looking for units

The first step in how I approach the study of a proportional design system is always identifying its base unit, which is the key to then figure out spatial ratios. In the case of the 2023 Coronation Emblem (Fig. 1), its designers at LoveFrom kindly provided a starting point in the usage guidelines: ‘When placed near other graphic elements, a distinct clear zone (x) […] should always be maintained.’ — where x corresponds to the distance between the pictorial part of the emblem and its outer border (Fig. 2).

This x unit in itself does not, however, seem to be very useful in measuring the emblem or its components further. Let us a dig little deeper, then. The distance between the pictorial circle of the emblem and the baseline-cap line circumference around which the lettering wraps measures precisely x/5, or 0.2x (Fig. 3). Interestingly enough, the bullet points in the lettering also measure x/5 in diameter (Fig. 4).

Unit x/5, which we will hereinafter label y for the sake of conciseness, turns out to be quite relevant. The pictorial circle of the emblem measures in fact 27y in diameter (Fig. 5), with the whole emblem therefore measuring 37y. Quite interestingly, the sides of the regular pentagon in which the largest rose in the emblem can be inscribed — the rose standing for the monde and cross pattée on top of St Edward’s Crown — has sides measuring 3y (Fig. 6), or ⅑ of the pictorial circle’s diameter.

Neither the above-mentioned bullet points, though, nor the lettering’s outer baseline-cap line circumference, do align with the y grid (Fig. 7). Both their offsets from the grid have the same length, measuring y/3. Figure 8 shows a y/3 grid superimposed onto the lower part of the emblem: we can see how the bullet point perfectly aligns with the grid, and how the lettering’s cap height measures 7(y/3) (remember that 700 UPM, or Units per Em, is considered to be the standard cap height in type design; therefore lettering — or at least lettering that follows this standard — measuring 7 units in cap height within a unit-based design system makes quite a lot of sense).

Although disassembling a finished product and then making guesses on the manufacturing process based on what you see does not always lead to accurate assumptions, finding recurring confirmation of these assumptions is a good sign. We can not be entirely sure, not without talking with the designers, that units y and y/3 were in fact used in constructing the Coronation Emblem, but the way in which they precisely beat time onto parts of the emblem’s topography looks quite promising. It is time to move on, though, as there is much more than units to look at.

2.2 — Symmetry, stems, and angles

The Coronation Emblem’s most recognizable characteristic is its intricate and visually rich floral pattern. It is not the kind of design that reveals right away the logic and process underlying its composition, and the grid system we have identified above does not seem to be very helpful in investigating it further. If the final product preserves any information of the chaîne opératoire guiding its creation, it must be looked for in other ways.

Looking at the floral pattern, the most noticeable topographic quality one recognizes is its strong bilateral symmetry. Its axis runs vertically through the uppermost thistle, the largest rose on top of St Edward’s Crown and the shamrock right below it, and the rose that grows at the very bottom of the illustration (Fig. 9–10). Everything in the pattern is built symmetrically — with the notable exception of the daffodils and thistles inside the crown, which are arranged in a (still structurally symmetrical) chiastic scheme.

The bilateral symmetry is reflected in the typography in how the three lettering sections are arranged, and therefore in the positioning of the bullet points separating them. It is perhaps because of the fact that one does not usually expect symmetry at glyph level that my attention was grabbed by the vertical stems of the K and of the last I in “KING CHARLES III” (Fig. 11): these, together with the bullet points, are the only shapes in the lettering being perfectly specular. If we draw lines that cut vertically each of the K and I stems and then travel across the emblem, we see how these lines cross the the daffodils and thistles inside St Edward’s Crown and then precisely intersect the two large roses at the bottom right and left of the floral pattern (Fig. 12). Quite an alignment. The angles formed by these two lines and the vertical axis of the emblem measure exactly sixty degrees.

With complex geometries, of course, there is always the risk of recognizing patterns and interpreting them as meaningful when they are actually not. Our brain is very good at finding familiar shapes where there are none: that’s what pareidolia is all about. With artifacts, the challenge is to try and distinguish the features that are the result of deliberate choice from those that are simply the outcome of layering complexity. The fruit of coincidence. Of all angles, the sixty-degree is quite a notable one — it is what regular hexagons are made of, and we learned since school how regular hexagons and circles have a very special geometric relationship. Is that enough to recognize intent, though?

When we study ancient material culture, products made by people that are no more and that cannot give us any primary-source insight regarding their thought and creative processes, the only thing we can do if the artifact gives us no further information is to broaden our inquiry and look at the context. To look for broader recurrences in phenomena, in the material traces left by human behaviors. It is an approach we can, of course, apply to modern artifacts as well. As I drew the two sixty-degree lines onto the emblem and contemplated the six-fold layout that resulted (Fig. 12), a memory about something quietly emerged in a corner inside my head. It was, just like the emblem, something with flowers, symmetry, and a six-fold construction. And a crown. Gosh — it was something designed by the very same group of people for the very same client.

3 — Crowns, flowers, and six-fold structures: back to the Terra Carta Seal

3.1 — The hexafoil

The Terra Carta seal (Fig. 13) is what I call a real masterpiece. The level of care and attention it exudes is thrilling. The makers were generous with details regarding its basic construction, so that it is now known history: the graphically luxurious design of the seal is dominated by vines, leaves, and flowers that trace the geometry of seven interlocking circles (Fig. 14).

This basic shape (Fig. 15) and the patterns derived from it are quite well-known in ancient iconography for appearing in the material record of a number of cultures from different ages. Versions of it can be recognized in the medallion at the bottom of an electrum cup from the acropolis of Idalium, Cyprus, dating between 750 and 600 BCE (↗); in a 1st-century-BCE mosaic floor in Herodium, twelve kilometers south of Jerusalem (↗); in early-16th-century CE drawings by Leonardo Da Vinci (↗) — to name just a few examples. The innermost circle in the geometry as it is rendered in the seal, with the flower-like shape of the six lenses inside of it resulting from the intersection of the outer circles, is commonly called an hexafoil. Geometrically, the hexafoil as well as the overall figure are characterized by what is defined as a six-fold dihedral symmetry, the same kind of symmetry that is found in a regular hexagon.

The floral design and the coronet in the Terra Carta Seal are symmetrically constructed on the two sides of the seal’s vertical axis. We have, therefore, both bilateral symmetry and a six-fold structure, just as we have seen in the Coronation Emblem.

3.2 — Measuring a crown

The seven interlocking circles in the base geometry of the seal intersect in 13 points (Fig. 17). Let us label them, for clarity: points P1 to P6 are the outer intersections, P7 to P12 are the intersections on the inner circle, whereas P13 is in the center of the seal (Fig. 18). A circle that is concentric to the hexafoil can be drawn connecting points P1–P6, as shown in Figure 18: it will turn out to be useful later.

Something we can notice right away is how points P1 and P6 correspond to the two upper ends of the coronet (Fig. 19). The sides of the coronet are portions of the lines connecting P1 and P6 to P13. Each of these two lines forms a 30-degree angle with the vertical axis (Fig. 20).

The distance between the lower ends of the coronet and the inner circle in the base geometry, the very outline of the hexafoil, deserves some attention. I will hereinafter label the measure of such distance a. The sides and the central portion of the coronet measure 3a in height, with only the points of the two fleurs-de-lys overshooting above that (Fig. 21). If we draw a circle that is concentric to the seal and crosses the lower ends of the coronet, and then three more concentric circles with radiuses that are progressively longer by increments of a (Fig. 22), we obtain the portion of a regular polar grid that looks like it was used as the basis structure for drawing the coronet itself, with each of the circles marking relevant components in its geometry.

Expanding this a-based polar grid further, we find that with two more outwards increments we precisely reach the circle of beads running between the pictorial core of the seal and the encircling lettering. Moving instead towards the center of the design, we obtain some more tasty evidence suggesting that a was, in fact, a unit used by the authors in constructing the seal: 1.5a inside the inner circle we meet the cap line of “TERRA” in the “TERRA CARTA” wordmark (if moving inwards from the top, whereas at the same distance when moving up from the bottom we find the baseline of “CARTA”); the wordmark’s cap height measures 3.5a; the baseline-to-cap-line distance between the two lines of text measures 4(a/3), or 1.3̄a (Fig. 23–24).

3.3 — Recurrence

We have commented above on the similarity in bilateral symmetry and six-fold structure between the Coronation Emblem and the Terra Carta Seal. It is now time to see whether there is something more than this generic parallelism connecting the two artifacts. In order to do so, I’d like to use a simple landmark-based approach that I’m borrowing from the geometric morphometrics methodology, which is particularly appropriate in scenarios such as this one since it is a size-independent technique for comparative analysis. I will start from the Terra-Carta Seal and use it as a reference specimen in the comparison, since it is the artifact about the construction of which we have more primary-source information, as we have seen above. I have identified a group of four intersection points in the base interlocking circles geometry that seem particularly relevant for their position and/or their connection to structural features in the seal: these are points P1 and P6, marking as we have seen the upper extremities of the coronet, and points P7 and P10, that are crossed by the vertical symmetry line (Fig. 25). The center of the geometry, P13, acts as the fixed reference point for the landmark set.

Having thus our reference point fixed in the center, how to scale our landmark set while superimposing it to the Coronation Emblem? My first guess, which turned out to be a lucky one, was that it might make sense to scale it so that the interlocking circles geometry from which our landmarks were isolated would fill the pictorial circle in the emblem (Fig. 26), just as it does — expectedly overshooting leaves aside — in the Terra Carta Seal. Below are the two figures showing the positioning of the grid (Fig. 27) and the superimposed landmark set (Fig. 28).

I must admit that the results were quite exciting — that, I guess, goes a long way in revealing what is the kind of thing that thrills me. The landmarks fall right onto quite major features in the emblem’s design (Fig. 29): on the largest rose representing the monde and cross pattée on top of St Edward’s Crown (P7), on the very baseline of the crown itself (P10), and on the two uppermost roses (P1 and P6). Given this promising outcome, why not dig a little deeper? Here is one other interesting correspondence: remember the three roses on the lower sides of the emblem, the ones we highlighted above (Fig. 12) as being crossed by the sixty-degree lines we drew from the vertical stems of the K and I in “KING CHARLES III”? They, together with the lowermost rose in the emblem, are perfectly cut by the mid of the five circles we drew when discovering the a unit in the Terra Carta Seal (Fig. 22), and that we can now overlay onto the emblem preserving their spatial relation to the landmark set (Fig. 30).

There is more. Since we can now normalize the size of the two artifacts (i.e. we can scale them so that landmarks on both occupy the same absolute position in space), it is very easy to compare the location of elements and features between them. One thing stands out: the encircling letterings on the emblem and on the seal share the exact same inner baseline-cap line circumference (Fig. 31). I find this remarkable. This last finding, in fact, considerably lowers the chances of much of the above being simple geometrical convergence.

To conclude, I have condensed in a summarizing scheme (Fig. 32) the underlying structural elements that the Coronation Emblem and the Terra Carta Seal apparently share: the vertical symmetry line and the sixty-degree diagonals composing their basic six-fold structure; the four landmarked points where relevant common features proved to be; the P1-P6 and P7-P12 (hexafoil outline) concentric circles, together with the circumference running between the two and that — because of what we have seen above (Fig. 30) — we might emphatically call ‘the three roses circle’; finally, the shared baseline-cap line circumference.

I have commented above, at the end of Paragraph 2.2, how in lacking further information from the artifacts themselves and/or from primary sources the best thing we can do to validate our hypotheses is to look at the context, to search for possible recurrences in phenomena and behaviors. When I carried out this comparative analysis this was impossible, as the two objects of inquiry were the only specimen in their group. This was only true, though, until one week before the publishing of this article. Ah, good things do come in threes!

4 — The infinite wonders of the Universe: enter the Astra Carta Seal

4.1 — Marvelous conjunctions

Thanks to the great tools that our times make available to us, I learned of the presentation of the Astra Carta initiative just a couple of hours after it was made public. A new Carta, a new seal (Fig. 33). I eagerly visited the presentation webpage (↗) and soon wrote down a note in my sketchbook.

I just learned of the release — only a few hours ago — of the brand new ‘Astra Carta’ project. The amount of care and meticulous detail is soul-stirring.

It is quite obvious that the Terra Carta and Astra Carta seals are strongly related, both conceptually and graphically. They were evidently conceived as variations on a same theme. There are, therefore, some correspondences between them that I was totally expecting, and that are even easier to see when we superimpose the scheme developed above to the new seal (Fig. 34). It is immediately evident, for instance, how landmarks P1 and P6 preserve their role in marking the upper ends of the coronet, which is exactly the same as before. We see that the vertical symmetry line is still relevant (and is visually reinforced by new elements such as the T in “ASTRA”, the lowermost Sun, and planet Venus), as is the encircling lettering baseline-cap line circumference. On the other hand, landmark P10 does not fall upon any graphical feature at all. It is with P7, however, that came quite some contentment.

When I imported the new seal into the canvas I had been using to carry out all the analysis, and in superimposing my scheme to it I saw landmark P7 marking the exact spot in which the North Star, Polaris, was drawn (Fig. 35), I couldn’t help but smile. There are some — not very frequent — moments in which, when handling or experiencing a product of any kind, you can sort of perceive some latent, non-verbal dialogue going on between you, the user, and the maker(s) of that product. Through artifacts, information is constantly being exchanged, although the amount of it we can actually access depends on our state and knowledge. Gaining access to more information in artifacts we are interested in and care about, strengthening that communication bond between user and maker(s), is something most people find deeply satisfying. I certainly do.

When I picked point P7 in the Terra Carta Seal as a landmark for my comparative analysis, I did so since it was of the only three intersection points in the interlocking circles geometry, together with P10 and our reference point P13, being also crossed by the vertical symmetry line. It was at the meeting spot of two structural elements underlying the design, therefore it seemed a strong enough feature where to place a landmark. It did not, however, mark any particularly showy element in the seal but a couple of lovely acorns hanging from the greenery. Quite another story, as we have seen, in the Coronation Emblem, where P7 marks the largest rose standing for the monde and cross pattée on top of St Edward’s Crown. And now in the Astra Carta Seal, in the exact spot where the center of that rose is in the emblem, we find Polaris — of all the stars in the seal, the one that was depicted in the most magnificent way. In Figure 36 you can see the spots marked by P7 in the three artifacts, arranged in chronological order: the acorns, the rose, and the star.

Then, we have the sixty-degree lines from our scheme. In the Astra Carta Seal they cross four of the eight Suns represented in their apparent revolution around the Earth (Fig. 37), and furthermore mark six of the dashed lines that are drawn at 15° increments all around the illustration. In the seal, the revolving Suns are depicted on a dotted ring. Remember the circle we drew crossing the lower ends of the coronet in the Terra Carta Seal (Fig. 21–22), when we first hypothesized the existence of unit a and of a polar grid based on it? Well, the dotted ring onto which the Suns revolve corresponds exactly to the path of that inferred circle (Fig. 38). This further corroborates the proposed structural reading.

There is one final thing that I would like to point out in this paragraph, although it is rather less solid than what we have seen up to now. I premise that one must always remember that, in comparing complex compositions, it is very easy to find correlations that were not intentionally conceived as such. That being said, in confronting the patterns and topographies in the Astra Carta Seal and in the Coronation Emblem, I couldn’t help but notice how beautifully the core of the dance-of-Venus pattern lines up with the shapes — outlines and inner florescence — of St Edward’s Crown (Fig. 39–40). Look at the way in which the rose, the thistles, the daffodils, and the shamrocks fall neatly within the petals drawn by the dance. How the uppermost loop wraps gently around the stem of the rose, and how the outer petals seem to trace out the geometry of the crown. It almost seems too beautiful to be coincidental, but I feel like we do not have precise enough evidence to claim that this was a deliberate correlation.

4.2 — A Sky Full of Suns

Before moving to the conclusions of this quite fascinating journey, I’ll take a little space to observe something that really resonated with my university background in the study of ancient iconography. For my Bachelor’s Degree thesis research, I was lucky enough to get the chance to study celestial depictions found on bronze artifacts that are about three thousand years old. The depictions on these objects are often characterized by (depending on their features) what are defined continuous or synoptic modes of visual narration, which is to say that elements like the Sun are portrayed more than once the same panel in order to represent the passing of time. It is a fascinating mode of representation that manages to encapsulate temporal and spatial transformation in one singular, static frame. It makes it possible to condensate a whole day, or a whole year, or to represent the cosmos itself in its never-ending motion, in one uninterrupted picture. The Astra Carta Seal does the same thing with the several depictions of the Sun (Fig. 41), even incorporating into these the representation of events such as the annular eclipse and the transit of Mercury. The result, in the seal such as in those ancient artifacts, is a wonder-inducing image, one in which phenomena that are distant in space and/or in time happen at once beneath your eyes (Fig. 42).

5 — Conclusions

In this article we have compared, measured, and drawn. We have ultimately looked for connections. Some, we actually found. Now we have to ask: what is the significance of these connections? I think there are two ways in which we can look at them, and both are quite fascinating. One is the way that sees dedicated makers crafting a number of products while carefully making sure that there’s a strong consistency across them, that they exist in a continuum of forms and technique. The other way sees those makers deliberately weaving interrelations that do not only connect the artifacts in terms of geometry, signs, and formal structures, but also in terms of meaning and overarching narrative. Whichever way it actually is, and that’s something that only the makers themselves can testify to, I find the level of craft and attention we were able to investigate truly remarkable, and profoundly inspiring.

Thank you for reading this article! I am Federico Florindo, its author. I am a 29-year-old graphic designer and illustrator from Rome, Italy. As parts of the article reveal, I have a background in the study of material culture: I graduated from the Sapienza University in Rome with thesis research projects concerning the study of Bronze-Age iconography (BSc) and the semiotic analysis of material culture (MSc). I currently work as a freelance designer for cultural institutions, businesses, and editorial projects. You can learn more about what I do by visiting federicoflorindo.com.

I’d be happy to discuss the contents of this article further. For any remarks or inquiries, please feel free to leave a comment here on Medium or reach out with an email at idea@federicoflorindo.com.

Once again, please note that the figures in this article were assembled for research and educational purposes only, under the guidelines of fair use. No copyright infringement is intended. All rights and credit for the original materials go to their rightful owners.