When I think of the florals I would truly want for myself—to fill my home, or an event of my own design—I think of dried florals. I imagine a canopy of lunaria, the shimmering seedpod, catching the light as beautifully as any crystal chandelier. I long for meadow grasses, bunny’s tail- a grass as soft and whimsical as its name implies– and golden flax. For flowers that are pearlescent, luminescent, sparkling. I envision a meadow-like pathway of dried flowers that ramble down the length of a table—the kind of table you would find in a reverie, tucked in the grasses of wildflower meadow. I picture little foraged-looking bouquets of dried flora, so fragile and pure. Dried flowers feel both earthy and angelic, organic and ethereal— paradoxes that fascinate me. They are, to me, not just a complement to fresh florals but an artistic statement in their own right; an entirely different medium that offers fresh and interesting interpretive possibilities.
These days, I keep a constant supply of dried flowers in my studio, my very own fleurs sechées. While I am designing, my hands reach out instinctively for dried flowers. It’s similar to the relationship I have with wild and foraged flora: I just want them; my hands simply reach for them. While I always want to nurture a complex, knowledgeable relationship to flowers, I am also interested in this. This simple, uncomplicated happiness. This love for certain materials, that I can neither question nor explain. Dried flowers speak to me. They fit my aesthetic. I love them: expressive as they are, and unexpected, and somehow pure.
I will always, always love fresh flowers, connected as I am to nature and the seasons. Meadows, gardens, and untamed places first sparked my love of flowers, and nothing will ever replicate this feeling. And foraged flora hold an especially important place in my heart and are integral to both my aesthetic and approach. So, I am not suggesting that dried flowers will ever replace fresh; I am simply fascinated by the way these elements work in combination, in conversation. Dried elements add such an ethereal quality to arrangements, whether they’re treated as a standalone ingredient or used in combination with fresh flowers. And I, I am simply drawn to my favorite flowers, however they come to me– fresh and full of seasonal poetry, or dried and heirloom- ready, reminiscent of days past.
Maybe you have preconceived ideas about dried flowers: you might think they’re matronly, the kind of thing you’d find hanging in your grandmother’s closet. But if you follow the floral world very closely at all, you will notice that dried flowers are enjoying a renaissance, the way that the Dutch Masters style did a decade or so ago. All the cool girl florists, it seems, are turning to drieds, setting up pop-up shops with everlasting bouquets and filling their studios with pampas and lunaria. Anyway, I’m less concerned with the fact that they’re cool (even though they are very, very cool, hip, chic, and sexy) because I would work with them and own my love for them, regardless. But I am glad to see that the reputation of dried flowers has been recuperated and reclaimed, because they really are all that.
There may have been a time when I would have rejected the basic premise, the concept of dried flowers. Flowers are supposed to be fleeting, ephemeral. They’re supposed to remind us of the temporal nature of our own lives. How could I make a claim for flowers that last forever? How could something everlasting break my heart the way that fleeting, seasonal flowers do? If I were to become a dried flower lover, would I be no better than those marketing people who protest every Valentine’s Day that ‘flowers only die?’– and in doing so miss the poetry and the point entirely? Would I lose my sensitivity to the ephemeral, transitory nature of flowers?
The answer, as you might suspect, is no. Dried flowers have only enhanced my love of nature, in all its stages; from a flower at the peak of its beauty to one that’s already ‘died’ and dried, there’s beauty in it all. When something dies, it reveals its essence. And so, dried flowers feel essential, in a way, and very often more interesting. They are creative flowers. They elevate arrangements. They feel cerebral, somehow; these are flowers that demand observation and study—not just elicit fangirling and love. I’d describe them as being somewhat highbrow.
I’m also, at this stage in my career, a realist. When I pour my heart– and all my physical and creative energies– into a wedding, I want the assurance that my flowers will last. There is nothing so heartbreaking as giving a wedding production all that I have, and delivering or installing flowers in a venue that isn’t conducive to keeping flowers alive. There is nothing more self-defeating. I’ve delivered my flowers to barns that, in mid-August, offered no air conditioning. As in, 114 degrees of trapped heat. I’ve installed arches in 50 mph winds. And, if I’m honest, it’s the worst. If the elements—or someone else’s negligence—interferes, what can I do? It’s my artistic product that suffers—but it is still my artistic product; it has my name on it. And ideally, I would like for my event flowers to reflect the care, vigilance, and love I devote to them from the moment they come into my care. I would like for all of that effort not to be undone by last-minute interferences.
Enter dried flowers. If I can have the assurance that my arrangements stay intact, if I could take one extra step to protect my time in the studio and my creative efforts, I will. Dried flowers take some of the stress off of me and make for one less unpredictable variable. I want my flowers to have the power to move and delight the viewer. And they are best able to do that when they aren’t stressed or compromised—when they last.
Dried flowers have instilled peace in my process. I am calm around them, knowing that their beauty can’t be destroyed or undone. Now that this pressure has been taken from me, I am more open to creativity and exploration. Less of my brain is crowded with concerns about care and keeping. I am a little more relaxed and free to express.
Emotionally, I like to work with these elements that only seem contradictory, with ephemeral fresh flowers (flowers that die) and everlastings. As a person of deep Christian faith, these are the very “contradictions” I experience in my walk of faith and my everyday life. I live in a mortal body; I serve an everlasting God. I am limited by my very humanness; yet Christ bestows His endless riches upon me. My Savior became human and emptied Himself of His glory, that you and I may receive it, undeserving though we are. And as I sit in His Presence and allow Him to work through me, heavenly vistas sometimes glimmer before my gaze. ‘Though the outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day.’ I know the tension of everlasting and fleeting things: I live this tension out day by day.
To paraphrase a favorite passage, I stride two worlds each day—a broken world that yet displays that glory and the very handiwork of God. A sinful and broken but redeemed life, blessed with the companionship and abiding Presence of a loving God. “Glimmers of holy keep interrupting my gaze.” So, this combination of everlasting and ephemeral flowers speaks to me. It is the tension of my life.
To my surprise—or perhaps not—some of the most angelic, hopeful, pure arrangements come from dried ingredients. Some of these look like the essence of hope, of love. And like all the things I love, I find myself wanting to defend them—and yet I cannot explain my pull to them. I simply am drawn into their heavenly appearance, their calm and lovely presence. I love them, I love them. Pure, fragile, everlasting.
Maybe I just need a reminder that, in this broken and mutable world, some things are everlasting. I know this to be true, that I serve the Everlasting Father; His everlasting love dwells in my heart and will protect me forever. It’s a reminder I need always, all my days, as I work and live and go about my life. Sometimes, with an armful of these everlasting flowers, I am able to enjoy the reminder. I breathe and relax into the embrace of love everlasting, unconditional, unalterable, a love that encompasses me before birth and stretches into eternity. And I try to create art that somehow expresses and carries that message of joy. Love everlasting.
