In the midst of the hustle and bustle these last few weeks, I’ve been making flowers. Every day, a flower in the morning with a cup of coffee, a flower before bed, a flower in the stolen moments between those bookends of time. It’s the most focused I’ve been in a long time. Something has clicked into place. It’s a meditation, even while an act of utter frivolity.
I haven’t finished them or made leaves or attempted to coax them into perfection. I just make them, plunk them into glasses strewn around my house. I will get to the details later.
My brain is busy, already thinking beyond the confines of instruction and books. I’m learning, technique and process, but my spirit is already in the garden, thinking about what I can recreate. It’s beyond rhyme or reason. For now, just simple medicine.
**I'm making flowers based on instructions from The Exquisite Book of Paper Flowers by Livia Cetti