Ever since I can remember, I have been surrounded by flowers: their graceful sway in the wind, the way they lean on one another for support, their blooming, thriving, and eventual wilting. There is a quiet beauty in their journey, a reflection of our own. I see us in flowers: fragile yet resilient, fleeting yet profound, enduring through life's challenges.
Growing up in Romania during the late years of communism, my grandparents' garden was not just beauty. It was survival. It was where tomatoes ripened under summer sun, where cherries hung heavy on branches, where herbs like parsley and dill grew alongside rows of potatoes and red peppers. We had chickens. We raised a pig. The land fed us, body and soul. That garden was my first classroom in understanding what it means to be nourished by nature, to trust in what the earth provides, to recognize that wellness begins in the soil beneath our feet.
That little girl, captivated by petals and colors, who marveled at tulips kissed by morning dew and felt enchanted by the sweet perfume of hyacinths, still resides within me. She is the one guiding my lens today in my floral fine art photography, urging me to preserve the beauty of flowers so they may be cherished forever. She is also the one who remembered, decades later when my body needed healing, that nature had always held the answers.
