Three days to find the poem.
A fierce "yes!" through the door of possibilities.
Every so often, something beautiful finds its way through what I like to call the door of possibilities—a poetic nod to my email inbox. It’s a threshold that often spills over with more than I can answer to, yet every now and then, it offers something worth pausing for.
Over the years, this little door has opened to unexpected treasures—publishing deals, travel invitations, a lifetime’s worth of exquisite French shoes, life stories and love notes from readers, film photography commissions, and those unmistakable yeses that land as a response to invitations of artful collaboration.
On October 18, just a little over a month ago, through the door of possibilities, something with the earmark of a flower found me—and if you know me well, you’ll know I never say no to flowers.
It was a fierce “Yes!” on my end.
An email, a Zoom call, and three days—just three—to gather the words, summon the art, and watch it take shape.
The process felt less like making and more like discovering: A poem slipping quietly into place, a visual that simply connected the dots. Each piece, as if of its own accord, folding into something cohesive—a small capsule collection—
for INBLUEM
When it comes to finding words for someone else, it asks for a kind of immersion, a sinking into the ground of their world, a world that isn’t mine.
To enter this space, I have to bring all my senses with me—looking, feeling, smelling, seeing what emerges naturally. It’s as if I become a poetic investigator, bearing witness to a world I’m invited into, sitting in the front row, quietly watching and documenting what it is, I see.
In this particular process, in this very season, I realise how much the past year’s disciplines have sculpted my approach to writing. Finding the right words doesn’t feel like work anymore; it feels like coming home.
I was talking to a dear friend about this revelation, and she put it beautifully.
She said:
And in that moment, it all became clear—the countless days spent facing the blank page, here with you in the world of Catching Shower Flowers, and the personal works quietly taking shape in the background, has become the forming together of something that now feels less forced, as if the words are just within reach, hovering above, close enough to touch.
As I sat with the idea of bringing this body of work into being, I could sense “In Bloom” / “INBLUEM” slowly unfurling in my mind—
As I closed my eyes, I could feel the weight of this:
Blooming isn’t a destination or an ideal—it’s a shifting, a bending of time and form. Growth, like art, is sculpted by moments—choices made in silence, in stillness. It’s not about waiting for change, but about choosing, again and again, the edges that call to us. In that moment, I saw how decision, even the smallest one, pulls us inward and outward at once, and in that tension, something begins to unfold—stretch, soften, open.
And there, in that quiet yielding, there’s the blooming.
I began to imagine: us as vessels—each one distinct, imperfectly whole, filled with the curious, often hidden elements that allow us to bloom in our own unique way. I saw it like a scene unfolding in a film: hands sketching an intricate vessel, reminiscent of a beautiful Ginny Sims ceramic—elegant, timeless, yet marked by the subtle imperfections that make it alive. Within this vessel, I saw flowers, not as decoration but as symbols of the unseen work—those quiet, internal decisions. Flowers are the fruit of a fierce “yes”—the commitment to bloom.
The words for this co-creation arrived quietly—direct, unadorned.
To be "in bloom" is not a distant ideal; it is a series of intentional choices, quiet affirmations that shift our course. The concept that landed as the finished poem stretches back to the very first email that sparked it all—my fierce “yes!” to the invitation to create for INBLUEM. From that moment, something began to unfold. In our Zoom call, the conversation circled the weight of decision, and when I sat down to write, I felt that same idea wanting to come through.
What struck me was how the stories were already there, already waiting in the quiet corners. And by pausing long enough to listen, to let the words reveal themselves, I was able to catch them with ink and paper.
The notion of a “fierce yes” seems poetically bound to INBLUEM, holding within it a quiet potency—a strength in what is unspoken, a power that doesn’t demand attention but quietly shapes the gentle path who say yes to it…
The words arrived and alongside them, I knew the art needed a quiet simplicity.
It was almost a relief—it's been a while since I've worked with my hands in this way. With the clock ticking, I reached for my pastels, the same ones I bought almost four and a half years ago in Germany. I only bring them out for special moments. I chose the green to reflect INBLUEM and its gentle uniform, a colour in the packet I hadn't touched before, it was as though it had quietly been waiting its turn, knowing its purpose from the start. I thought of that children's book, The Day the Crayons Quit, and imagined the conversation Green Crayon might want to have with me. Spreading the finest German paper across the living room floor at 7:30 p.m., after my daughters had gone to bed, I blinked—and suddenly, it was 1 a.m.
There’s an irony in our instinct to overcomplicate that which is simple—an impulse to weave layers where none are needed.
I began in complexity, only to find, like a breath, my way to simplicity.
As I settled into this clarity, I thought about a conversation I’d had with a dear friend, someone who has been delving deeply into the work of Anne Truitt (read more here).
She said:
Her insights brought a certain reassurance—that strange, almost instinctual need to complicate before reaching simplicity. It felt right, in this moment, for INBLUEM.
And with my friend’s wisdom still echoing, I traced the simple outlines of the flowers, sketched with the green pastel that felt destined for this moment and sent the scans to the team of makers at INBLUEM who were awaiting them. When the designs landed back in my inbox—with mock-ups across a tee, a bag, and a hat, carried by the thoughtful, intentional team of INBLUEM—my fierce yes resonated once more.
A harmony between my poetic world and INBLUEM, unfolding like a song and dance. A few late nights and scrunched-up paper, yes, but a sense of effortless flow on both sides.
So with the beauty of story found in the process that’s been, allow me to introduce to you—
The Art-Form of Blooming,
a small capsule collection in co-creation,
Step into summer with INBLUEM: The Art-form, a consciously created capsule collection designed to inspire wellness and creativity. Created in collaboration. This limited-edition collection blends artistry and functionality to support you through this season.
Featuring evocative poetry and illustrations, along with sustainably made essentials, each piece is an invitation to slow down, reflect, and embrace the art of blooming. From the oversized tee to the versatile tote bag and cap, this capsule holds everything you need to move through summer with grace and ease.
This collection is a quiet exploration of intention and form—
Each piece in this capsule reflects the space between decision and creation—a holy “yes” to unfolding, softening, and opening to what is placed before us, into our individually designed purpose, unique to the personhood of each, it is where we say yes to letting life touch our skin.
Through this work, we’re not merely creating art; we’re honouring the power in the decision to begin, to bloom / INBLUEM.
SHOP COLLECTION HERE
To bloom,
a holy practice,
an art-form in fierce decision—
“Yes!” I do sing...
I
let
life
touch
my
skin
Unfolding,
Stretching,
Softening,
Opening—
and with the flowers,
I’m
in
bloom. /
Thank you for being here. Paid subscriptions allow me to keep writing these love-letters. Choosing to sow into ‘Catching Shower Flowers’ as a paid subscriber is a generous acknowledgment that you value what you read here, that you are not just an audience to the work, but a contributor to the unfolding of it. Thank you for the opportunity to push my limits and find the words begging to be found, just beneath the words on top. I am so grateful for this opportunity, one that I don’t hold lightly.
xo
these photos in your living room tell stories!!! I love seeing your process in this vulnerable space so so much. You're a gift. A delight. Your heart bouncing off every possible reflection.
Your words have this beautiful way of entangling in my heart, a subtle "hell yes" when I read them, things I sit with but haven't yet put into words. I'll be visiting this one often. Thank you! Beautiful work.