I will try hard to keep pushing these pedals against all odds. I will mount my bike every day holding on to the belief that the next good thing is waiting around the bend, that the next good thing will finally appear out of these dark December mists.
I wake up thinking about flowers and design and go to bed the same way. Most of my daily thoughts are consumed with flowers and design. Creativity and pleasing clients.
It’s funny isn’t it, how sometimes things come back to you in ways that you’d never have expected? That’s really how my journey with flowers has come to be — a funny process that really wasn’t very intentional, until all of a sudden it was.
I wonder if my grandmother could have known when she made those daisy crowns, she was weaving a dream into my heart or if my mother realized the time she spent teaching me the names of plants would one day turn into a calling for me.
What has defined my journey and my purpose, what has guided me, and what I hold sacred above all other things, are the relationships I’ve forged along the way. This story, my story, is a love letter to each one of them.
Inspiration and people are intimately linked. I want you to think harder about that, and to think about who you draw inspiration from. More importantly, WHAT part of them is calling to you?
My environment continues to lead my work. When thinking about an arrangement, setting plays a huge part. Age and style of property, the colour of the walls, light levels: all inspire and inform.
Inspiration to me is people. The way they treat others, the way they treat me. My designs just do their own thing because my mind does its own thing.
I think it is so important to keep pushing the boundaries and discovering new, weird and wonderful ways that we can interpret ‘floristry’ beyond what we traditionally think of.
It was in the garden, in those quiet hours, that I was introduced to who I really wanted to be: the me who now knew how to chase away the gray by putting her face to the sun.
I have developed a new understanding of what it means to observe nature defenselessly, without trying to figure it out somehow, and have allowed it to ground me.
There is fertility in decay. Glorious wedding flowers that once marked a happy occasion will turn black with rot in my compost pile, and go on to feed another flower for another day. Beauty emerges from hardship, and the cycle begins again.
The presence of the boys’ grubby hands, incomprehensible words, and glowing faces compel me to decide my value as a florist.
Sharing the message to let go of fear in the creative process and instead trust your intuition proved to be incredibly freeing and joyful.
I had become comfortable in a place I wasn’t meant for anymore, but acknowledging that brought an untethering and a lightness in the midst of the pain- a greater understanding of myself and what I needed.
The kind of letting go preoccupying me these days relates to the letting go of some aspect of my personality that no longer serves me; to being free of some outmoded habit of mind or defect of character. This skill has always been illusive.
Our hands can only hold flowers so long, but our hearts can hold the people that came along with them so much longer.
I most certainly don’t want to regret missing out on all the little things because the little things are what life is worth living for.
Working with flowers is a dream and I’ve found a unique connection between dance and the art of floral design.
If we take inspiration from embracing the perfectly imperfect results we have the answer to letting go.
The origin of my artistry is woven deep, beginning somewhere centuries ago in the stories painted by the masters of the Golden Age, and threaded into my days filled with flowers, many beautiful friendships and artistic opportunities
Seeing severe pain and death makes one re-evaluate what is important, where precious time should be spent. I knew I did not want to merely make “pretty” things.
Some of our greatest strengths in our business are because of the partnership we have built. We are two very different people with different origins. Differing passions and interests, but somehow we function as one.
Poetry submission.
I can still remember with surprising clarity the day I spent as the young elementary girl standing under the canopy of vegetation on a school field trip feeling enveloped by nature for the first time ーnot quite understanding what it meant yet, but knowing for sure I wanted more of it.
This won’t be my typical story full of the frills and thrills of my love of flowers (although the love is very real) but rather the story of how flowers were my lifeline.
Every client that has made me a part of their event team makes me a part of their family. I love the excitement that my clients feel as their event becomes a reality.
The idea that I could combine my admiration of this Californian floral style and my English country roots was exciting and so I enrolled on a floristry course to learn the skills.
It all started with purple anemones. My dad used to grow them for my mum amongst the vegetable patch on our small farm in a tiny hamlet in deepest Devon, England.
My hope and goal is to honor each student’s individual journey—their background, strengths, wounds, goals, etc.— as unique, important and valuable.
“Chī fàn!”
The words cut through the dull Napa Valley heat on an August afternoon, the golden hour glow sliced and seared by this tongue and tone.
Poetry Submission
The Storyteller
I still remember walks with my mom as a small child, stopping every few feet, pulling my hand from hers in order to closer inspect a blooming weed or a dainty wildflower forcing its way through the cracks in the sidewalk.
Watercolor Submissions via
TheMintGardener
Considering Origin as a Tool for Reconnection
The journey to get to where I am now is anything but typical. Honestly, I never considered that flowers were going to a part of my life. I grew up on a sheep farm in small town Wyoming - population mostly cows.
Origins of Process, Design & a Business
Art Submission
Iris Barn
Nature is innate in all of us. It is how we nurture its existence , that is how we truly connect.
Just as the seasons change, so do you. Take advice from the daffodils, peonies, and rain pods. Take comfort that there is a season to shine and one to restore.