The process
My photographs begin long before the camera is lifted.
The work starts in research. I am drawn to flowers and plants with a particular presence, forms that hold light in a certain way, petals with translucency, unusual structures, colours that shift with shadow, varieties that feel sculptural, fragile or quietly dramatic. I spend time studying species and cultivars, searching not for what is simply beautiful, but for what feels alive.
Then, the process continues with planting. This is the first act of patience. There is waiting, uncertainty and care. Some flowers thrive, some fail, some open differently than expected. Time is an essential part of the work. Occasionally, select flowers are sourced beyond the garden when their fleeting nature, rarity or climate limitations make them otherwise inaccessible.
When a bud begins to unfold, the next stage begins. I observe closely over several days, sometimes longer, watching how the flower changes with each day. I study it's posture, how it leans, where it resists, where it softens, how it receives light. I move slowly and I wait. I test. I return. I photograph extensively, often making hundreds of images before one feels worthy of becoming part of the final body of work.
For me, this is never a process of simply “taking” a photograph. It is a process of attention.
I am not searching for flawless symmetry. What moves me most are the subtle irregularities that reveal life: a petal that curls unexpectedly, a mark left by weather or growth, a gesture that feels almost human in it's vulnerability. Nature offers perfection, but it is often the imperfections that make a subject unforgettable.
I see each plant as a living presence with its own rhythm and life cycle. My work is rooted in that witnessing, in respecting the flower not as an object, but as something alive. For me, the final photograph is never a quick capture. It is the result of research, cultivation, patience and close observation, a way of witnessing and honouring the life cycle of the plant.
The work starts in research. I am drawn to flowers and plants with a particular presence, forms that hold light in a certain way, petals with translucency, unusual structures, colours that shift with shadow, varieties that feel sculptural, fragile or quietly dramatic. I spend time studying species and cultivars, searching not for what is simply beautiful, but for what feels alive.
Then, the process continues with planting. This is the first act of patience. There is waiting, uncertainty and care. Some flowers thrive, some fail, some open differently than expected. Time is an essential part of the work. Occasionally, select flowers are sourced beyond the garden when their fleeting nature, rarity or climate limitations make them otherwise inaccessible.
When a bud begins to unfold, the next stage begins. I observe closely over several days, sometimes longer, watching how the flower changes with each day. I study it's posture, how it leans, where it resists, where it softens, how it receives light. I move slowly and I wait. I test. I return. I photograph extensively, often making hundreds of images before one feels worthy of becoming part of the final body of work.
For me, this is never a process of simply “taking” a photograph. It is a process of attention.
I am not searching for flawless symmetry. What moves me most are the subtle irregularities that reveal life: a petal that curls unexpectedly, a mark left by weather or growth, a gesture that feels almost human in it's vulnerability. Nature offers perfection, but it is often the imperfections that make a subject unforgettable.
I see each plant as a living presence with its own rhythm and life cycle. My work is rooted in that witnessing, in respecting the flower not as an object, but as something alive. For me, the final photograph is never a quick capture. It is the result of research, cultivation, patience and close observation, a way of witnessing and honouring the life cycle of the plant.
