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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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The presence of the boys’ grubby hands, incomprehensible words, and glowing faces compel me to decide my value as a florist.
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Sharing the message to let go of fear in the creative process and instead trust your intuition proved to be incredibly freeing and joyful.
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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.
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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.
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Our hands can only hold flowers so long, but our hearts can hold the people that came along with them so much longer.
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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.
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Working with flowers is a dream and I’ve found a unique connection between dance and the art of floral design.
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