As soon as I gather each flower. There is no time to hesitate, within moments, it must be nestled into the press, where its shape, color, and essence are gently preserved.

The presses themselves are our own creation, crafted from resilient wood to endure, much like the memories these blooms will hold. Between layers of soft blotting paper and sturdy greyboard, each petal is carefully arranged, ensuring that no stem bends out of place, no delicate detail is lost. The paper drinks in the flower’s moisture, whispering away its fleeting freshness, leaving behind a perfectly pressed imprint—nature, stilled in time, yet forever alive in its quiet beauty.

The sources of my flowers are multiple, from using my own pot flowers that I take care with so much joy, or the flowers from our little garden, to the ones I pick occasionally from my mother's or our grandpa's gardens when we travel home. Yes, believe it or not, almost every time we travel home, we make sure we carry a press with paper and greyboard with us.

The art of traditional flower pressing is beautifully unpredictable. No matter how carefully I arrange each petal before closing the press, nature has the final say, some flowers emerge with perfect grace, while others take on unexpected forms that don’t quite make the cut. But I see this as part of the magic. These imperfect blooms become my muses, finding new life in experimental veil designs or delicate framed pieces.

For about six weeks, the flowers rest under gentle pressure, slowly surrendering their moisture to time. Then comes my favorite moment—the unveiling. As I lift the layers, I hold my breath, eager to see how each flower has transformed. Some preserve their beauty flawlessly, while others surprise me with delicate shifts in color and texture. It’s in this moment, when nature’s touch meets my hands, that the true artistry begins.