Can you share a bit about your background and what first drew you to floristry?
When I was studying landscape architecture, I became obsessed with self-seeded plant communities - how they just appear and arrange themselves so effortlessly. Growing up around theatre and ballet really shaped me too; movement and storytelling have always been part of how I see things.
Floristry ended up being the place where all of that came together. Each arrangement feels a bit like a tiny performance - guided by me, but still letting the flowers do their own thing. That balance between technique, intention and nature’s spontaneity is what first drew me in, and it still inspires me every day.
How would you describe your personal style or signature approach to floral design?
My work sits somewhere between the wild and the carefully curated. I tend to lean toward the meadowesque and naturalistic - designs that feel like they’ve been gathered from the edge of a field rather than constructed in a studio. A lot of that comes from summers spent visiting my grandparents in Germany. I grew up loving the way poppies, cornflowers, chamomile, and other annuals would spring up along the edges of barley fields, creating these soft, accidental colour stories.
That sense of gentle wildness has stayed with me. In my work, I try to capture that same feeling: airy, seasonal, a little unruly, and always led by what nature is doing rather than forcing it into something overly polished.
What inspires you most when you start creating a new arrangement or concept?
I’m always led by the flowers themselves - their shape, their movement, the way they naturally drape. I love a garden-grown stem with a bit of quirk to it; those are often the ones that guide the whole arrangement. My process is very intuitive, responding to what’s in front of me rather than working from a rigid plan.
For larger events, the final concept usually forms around one or two varieties that are really at their peak and capture the client’s overall mood - think fennel in late summer or witch hazel in early spring. I don’t work to strict floral or colour palettes; instead, I leave space for the season to offer something unexpected. Those fleeting, unforeseen blooms are often what make the whole installation dance.
Are there particular flowers or palettes you naturally gravitate toward in your work?
I’m naturally drawn to the more inconspicuous flowers - the ones you don’t often find in commercial production. Fritillaria meleagris, Verbena bonariensis, sanguisorba officinalis, avena barbata, cynoglossum amabile… anything that brings softness and makes an arrangement feel almost incidental, as if I have extracted a small excerpt from a garden or landscape and relocated it.
In terms of colour, I tend to lean toward more subdued, nuanced palettes. Flowers often carry their own incredibly sophisticated tones - gentle gradients and subtle shifts - and I prefer to let those natural colour stories lead rather than steering things into something too bold or contrived.
What part of the creative process do you enjoy the most when working with flowers?
I love how tactile floristry is, and how immediate the design process feels. Because the materials are so ephemeral, you learn to work quickly and intuitively - there’s no time to overthink. There’s also something freeing about creating work that won’t last forever; it’s taught me a lot about letting go. And I enjoy the messiness of it too - letting stems fall to the floor and working in a little bit of chaos.
Do you have any creative rituals or methods that help you spark ideas?
I would say foraging is an essential part of my creative process. Sometimes something as simple as an overgrown, rambling rose by the wayside can become the starting point for a whimsical installation.
Gardening and growing my own flowers is also a way for me to expand on my day to day floristry practice. It’s a reminder of the care and effort that farmers and suppliers put into the botanicals I work with, and it gives me a chance to cultivate some niche and unusual blooms.
