Everything begins in the ground.
Every flower in every Floral Alchemy piece was grown here. On this land. In this garden, above the limestone, in the same pollinator strips where the bees land on an outstretched hand. There are no suppliers. No intermediaries. She is the farm. She is the beginning of every piece.
The studio ceiling is entirely flowers. Hundreds of varieties hung to dry after harvest, turning slowly in the light from bloom to specimen. Below them, the long wooden table. Between the two — the whole arc of the work.
This is not a supply chain. This is a single thread: seed to soil to stem to ceiling to table to resin to your hands. Every season, the garden gives. Everything given is kept.
What the garden gives, she keeps. Pressed, sorted, catalogued — each variety in its own drawer, organized by color, by season, by what the light does to it at a particular time of year. The archive grows every season. At any given time, hundreds of varieties wait.
Every specimen in this library was grown on this land. Every drawer is a record of a year.
Nothing is chosen casually. Every piece begins as a specific act of attention — a particular flower, from a particular harvest, selected for what it carries. Placed by hand. Pressed. Held in resin. Made permanent.
The resin does not preserve a flower. It captures a moment. The two saffron crocus blooms in a piece that exists right now were alive in this garden on a specific afternoon. They still are, in the only way that matters.
When a piece leaves with you, something travels with it. Not metaphorically. A piece of the frequency. A fragment of the shrine. A living thing made permanent, still carrying the resonance of the land where it grew — above the limestone caves, in the garden that called the magic back.
You are not buying jewelry.
You are receiving a piece of the place.
The collections
Sacred Hearts is the entry — the collection that opens the world.
Works is everything.