There is a very distinct aesthetic and storytelling at play in your work. How would you describe the visual and sensory identity of your creative universe?

“I do think I have a certain style, and naturally it permeates everything I do. But when I get an assignment, it isn’t really about me. It’s a collaboration between the client and me, about supporting and underlining a certain sentiment, universe, space or occasion. Having done this for so many years, I think people also come to me because they are familiar with my aesthetic language. They expect something that feels like ‘me’, which luckily means that most of the people I work with are happy with what they get. The flip side is that when someone doesn’t like what I do, I take it quite personally, because it often feels like an extension of myself.

I’ve always felt I was born in the wrong century. In a way, my work tells a story of something from another time, something slightly old-fashioned. I don’t like things that look too new, too plastic or too neon. That is why I often mix fresh flowers with a branch or something crooked or slightly faded that I’ve picked myself. I’m not concerned with what’s trendy or modern, but I hope to keep renewing myself within a framework that is distinctly my own.”

What originally sparked your passion for nature and flowers, and did you always know you wanted to work with botany?

“When I was a child and people asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said a gardener or a priest. I’m not from a creative or religious family, but I was full of imagination and drawn to the calm, solemn atmosphere of a church or a garden.

It was always important to me to have plants in my room. Even at eight years old, I would get up early, take the bus to the flower market before school and spend my allowance on plants. Afterwards, I’d bring my plants with me on the bus back and head straight to class. The grown-ups allowed it, even though I now realise it was quite unorthodox. I always knew I was different in that way, but I never experienced it as a problem.”

Are there any techniques or methods fundamental to your creative process, regardless of material or form?

“I have a friend who is a goldsmith, and she sits down and sketches before crafting her pieces. I’ve never worked like that. Usually, I don’t even know in advance what I want to create. It evolves as I work, drawing on the many impressions stored in the back of my mind. Often it begins with something already existing - a shape, colour, texture or small detail that feels compelling.

Whether I do flowers, set design, styling, or ceramics, it’s all a matter of expression - creating a sentiment and universe, conveying a story, and working with composition, colour and scenography. To me, it’s not that different whether I do one or the other. After 35 years, I still feel that whatever I create, I can do better next time. It’s exhausting, but it’s also a strong drive that keeps me going and evolving.”

What does a typical workday look like for you?

“Twice a week my day begins at 3.30 in the morning. I usually move quickly, but in the morning I insist on slowing down. I shower, have breakfast and coffee in peace, and go over my shopping list before heading to the market. Luckily, I’ve always been a morning person and I love the calm of those early hours and the feeling of being the first one awake. 

After the market, I return to my workshop to unload and prepare everything, then ride my bike around the city to clients where I often install on location. Because I have to get up so early, my day usually ends around 8 or 8.30. It’s a quite different life from most people I know, but fortunately, after 30 years like this, my friends understand that big Saturday nights out are rarely my thing.”

What do you think would surprise people most about your work?

“I think people would be surprised by how stressful it actually is. Many imagine it to be romantic and peaceful, but it’s anything but. I’m not complaining, I truly love my job, but there is much more to it than most people think.”