Why do you do what you do? What is My Father's Florist about? It is about desperately trying to borrow what the West Coast lends me and gifting that to others through floristry.
The West Coast is Bitter
It’s wrenching, gritty and graceful
It is rebellious yet it is as sweet as honey
It is chaotic yet also slow.
The West Coast is overwhelming, the size and grander
It does the most graceful job at making you feel small.
When something is that relentless it makes you want to do the things you love.
A West Coast Florist keeps Palm Fronds in a pile on her porch.
She is constantly checking the waves and the weather.
Living for late nights and early mornings.
It’s about foraging wherever she goes, constantly knocking on doors.
It's waking up at the crack of dawn to get a quick surf in before
starting work even if the waves are shit and your surfing ability is simply medicore.
It’s about having your friends living down the road
and turning up whenever and without warning.
It’s about girls who have salad for lunch and then cancel
it all out with tacos and wine for dinner without hesitation.
It’s about learning to skate,
because what else are you going to do when the waves are shit.
A West Coast Florist is well acquainted with grief, she cares deeply.
She loves the dried floral colours of Clay, Bronze, Spice, Rust, Ginger and Butterscotch.
It’s being passionate about passion.
She adores the ocean and delights in feeling the sun lap up every inch of her body.
She is driven, creative and determined.
Well acquainted with laughter.
She isnt sun kissed, she kisses the sun.
She is in a constant love affair between dried floristry and the ocean.
Maybe she doesn't live on the West Coast at all but leaves the romance of her city to drive for miles to hear the laughter of the crashing waves. Maybe she doesn't surf at all.
She has a story worth knowing.
Let me tell you about this collection.
Eggplant purples, egg shell blues, butter scotch and bumblebee. Rouge blush and dappled tones of slate and cinnamon.
A collection of foraged, golden treasures which aren’t sun kissed but kiss the sun.
The artichokes were purchased on a whim, I filled the bathtub with them. Dried Dahlias were a desperate attempt to trick Mother Nature. The Delphianans, they were everywhere, I have never seen purples so perfect. Cabbage tree flowers were a surprise, I’ve always thought they were kind of ugly. Roses the colour of boysenberry, Oyster flowers, Cotton flowers and speckled Aspidistra leaves.
I have desperately tried to capture feeling molten and golden and saved, but most of all I have poured my heart into welcoming all the light that often goes unseen.