There is a unique sense of peace and stillness that exists in nature that I don’t experience anywhere else. A gentle exhale, a feeling of coming back to myself, in a place where I can understand and be understood.

I feel close to God in these green, peaceful spaces, and as such it feels like second nature to treat them with reverence and respect.

This naturally finds its way into how I work. I try to think in circles rather than straight lines, with their defined start points and end points. Growing as much as I possibly can, gathering and drying it, making with it, and considering what will eventually happen to the pieces that leave my studio, as well as the methods I use to make them.

In the back of my mind, the beautiful idea of a closed-loop way of making is always ticking over. Sustainability isn’t an easy thing to really talk about. I can tie myself up in knots about it and, truthfully, I avoid using the word as much as possible. It’s become a buzzword, almost empty of meaning and weight, when in reality it is deeply complex. It isn’t something to be ticked off as finished, but instead an ongoing act of making choices that align with our belief systems, time and time again.

There is something devotional in that process for me. The magic of working with plants at every stage, from seed to dried flower. A co-creation on so many levels; an act of seeing and also of being seen by the thing that I am, and which is me.

How could I do anything other than want to tread as lightly as I possibly can?