I notice what other people walk past. The curve of a stem before it opens. A color that shouldn't work until it does. That's the whole job, really — seeing it before anyone else does. Every piece starts the same way: looking longer than feels necessary.
No two arrangements start from the same place, because no two events are the same event. I listen first. Then I design around what's actually there — the light, the space, the people it's for.
Most days end the same way — dogs underfoot, hands in the garden, whatever's left of the light.
Weekends are for the lake and a book I'm in no hurry to finish.
It's not separate from the work. It's where the work starts. The ideas show up when nothing's demanding them to.