Lately, in my floral design work, I’ve been enamored with pastels. Sorbet colors of peach, lemon, blush, mint green, mango, and frosted blue—I am so drawn to them. This is especially true of dried florals, which allow me to achieve colors that are otherwise unachievable in nature. I enjoy the expressive range and the freedom that comes from working with drieds, which are an ideal canvas for paint. These botanicals feel extra artistic and fashion-forward. While I will always love fresh flowers, drieds are what I love to work with most, the flowers that best capture my essence and inspire my process. Their interpretive potential is endless, and they look particularly magical in muted, pastel colors.
Every dried ingredient in my studio looks like it belongs in a fashion shoot or on some ultra- artsy music video. There is the amaranthus that I’ve painted a kind of daiquiri ice blue, and pampas plumes that fade from icy lavender to pale pink. Preserved white ferns look and feel angelic. My collection of bunny grasses looks like it was gathered from a pastel meadow– like I came home with unreal bouquets of lavender, mauve, blush, and blue. And who could resist the cheery, lemon yellow section? The pretty peach plumes? I am captivated by the swirling, kaleidoscope colors and feathery textures. Seeing the studio full of these surreal things, it’s like walking into a dream garden where impossible flowers grow.
These flowers have the power to transport, to take you to some imaginative place. I will always be drawn to unconventional flowers, but these are more than just unusual. They are exquisite. Far from feeling “fake” (and none of them are—these are all real flowers that have been preserved), dried flowers just feel fashionable. True, you won’t find a mint green bloom in nature… but wouldn’t you love to?
I explored both warm and cool tones for this custom piece– not a straightforward color gradation, but a joyful take on all shades of pastel. One side felt frosted– all icy blues, mint, lavender, and violet. The other embraced warmer hues of apricot, blush, and lemon. And of course there were sensitive mid-tones like mauve and cream to harmonize and blend. The end result (I hope) looked somewhat like a bowl of sherbet. <3
And then there was this bouquet of mint green, aqua, and raspberry. I wanted it to be unusual enough but still gentle, with whimsical bunny grasses, banksia, phalaris, peony, pampas, pennycress, and peach ferns.
As if they were picked from the garden of my daydreams– a garden where each petal was hand-painted, where foliage was pink instead of green, and flowering branches were studded with turquoise blossoms.
Working with drieds, I am able to offer my clients installations that last forever. Commissioning a dried piece is more akin to investing in a work of art, like a small sculpture or painting. It’s true, fresh flowers will never go out of style, and picking up a market bouquet is one of life’s little charms– a simple pick-me-up that adds romance to everyday life. But a dried installation is something that can involve more serious artistic planning and exploration– something you can plan to occupy a permanent place in your home. It is a joy to coordinate dried arrangements with living room décor, a stunning foyer, a fireplace mantle, or favorite wallpaper.
Drieds will always be a luxury item; the processes involved in preserving and painting them make them more, not less, expensive than fresh florals. But they are so unusual, so beautiful, and everlasting– every bit worth, in my opinion, the higher price tag. They are eccentric in the way that fine art things can be, without feeling kitsch, weird, or ugly in the modern art sense. No, they are soft and beautiful, and their gentle colors captivate me.
But these florals hardly need my endorsement. The best way to fall in love with flowers is through their wordless beauty. I don’t like protesting the point too much, because flowers can (and should) speak for themselves. In the way that only flowers can, they should privately, silently captivate the heart. And the artistic experience should always be felt by (not forced upon) the viewers, who should be able to come to their conclusions organically. Keats employs flowers to make his point about how naturally poetry should come:
“We hate poetry that has a palpable design upon us – and if we do not agree, seems to put its hand in its breeches pocket. Poetry should be great & unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one’s soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself but with its subject. – How beautiful are the retired flowers! how would they lose their beauty were they to throng into the highway crying out, “admire me I am a violet! dote upon me I am a primrose!”
So, I won’t declare the beauty of dried flowers too vigorously. View them for yourself. Experience them. Perhaps you will be drawn to them and captivated by their surreal beauty. <3
