There's a unique pleasure in working with fresh, green materials, especially when they come from the local environment around you. It's as though nature is offering a personal invitation, asking you to see its beauty in a new way.
When I was in Helsinki, I had the pleasure of using materials from the gardens of Arto and Elizabeth, as well as from the Annala garden, which provided a delightful array of textures and forms.
Each garden has its unique character, and when you work with local plants, it's like tapping into the soul of a place.
The Annala garden offered up its bounty with the help of the Useful Plant Society. From medicinal plants to butterfly-attracting flora, each material came with its own history, as shared by Katya, adding yet another layer of meaning.
In ikebana, we don't just arrange plants; we give them a second life. That's part of what draws me to local materials—they're more ecological, often cost efficient, and carry a sense of history and place.
But beyond that, they push my creativity. Seeing new materials sparks fresh ideas, and there's something about working with what's around you that forces you to think differently, adapt, and innovate.
For anyone practicing ikebana—or simply arranging flowers at home—there's a lesson here: You don't need expensive or exotic plants to create something beautiful.
When I give a demonstration, I take a slightly different approach than some others. I'm not just there to showcase technique or create a polished, perfect arrangement.
For me, a demonstration is about revealing the beauty of the materials themselves—showing that even the simplest, most overlooked plants can have grace and elegance.
In doing so, I hope to inspire others to see the potential in their own surroundings.
Take, for instance, the two pine branches Elizabeth brought back from Norway, cradled in her suitcase. Those branches had a story, a journey, and it was an honor to use them in my arrangement. Elizabeth later used the same branches for a Japanese festival in Helsinki, giving them a third life.
Can you imagine the depth of connection to those materials? When you work with materials that have a story, your arrangements take on a deeper meaning.
Whether it's a branch from your garden, a flower from a friend's yard, or even something you found on a walk, your connection to the material can elevate your work from mere decoration to something truly personal.
When I prepare for a demonstration, I'll make sketches, select a container, and think about the balance of materials. But I never finalize the arrangement in advance.
Why? Because the materials evolve—they change over time, and so must the arrangement. One has to listen to the material. This is a key lesson for anyone doing creative work: Be flexible and open to change.
The final piece is often better when it grows organically from the process, rather than being locked into a plan from the start.
Moss Covered Forest in Finland
Finland's landscape deeply inspired me. For one arrangement, I used moss as a nod to the moss-covered Finnish forests, and I placed a stone on top of the container for balance—a direct reflection of the rocky terrain around Helsinki. Nature has a way of inspiring solutions, and sometimes all you need to do is look around.
If there's one thing I've learned from working with gravity-defying arrangements, it's that failure is part of the process. If you're not willing to fail, you're not pushing yourself creatively.
So, whether you're arranging flowers or pursuing another craft, remember this: A little risk makes for better results and growth. None of my arrangements collapsed this time, but the real challenge was moving them—a task that Arto took on with great care and skill.
There are many ways to approach a demonstration, and they're all valid. But for me, it's never about performance. It's about connection—between me, the audience, and the natural world.
So yes, my demonstrations don't always run to a strict schedule, but ikebana isn't just about the final product; it's about the process, the mindfulness, and the connection to nature.
And perhaps that's the lesson we can all take from ikebana:
Life, like nature, isn't meant to be rushed. Take your time, find balance, and let things unfold at their own pace.
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