How Floral Design Is Like Baking a Cake
My cell phone rang. It was a request from my husband to make my "famous chocolate cake" since we were having another dinner party—the second this month.
Already buried in work for the week, I wasn't immediately excited about the idea, though I love baking. Being in the kitchen is where I feel at home, where my passion for making all things delicious and pretty converge. Arranging flowers and baking are my outlets for creativity.
I began my usual cake baking by saving photos on Pinterest for inspiration, grabbing my trustworthy and stained cookbook, examining my overflowing pantry for a box of unsweetened cocoa powder, and grabbing my homemade vanilla made from a bottle of Absolut Vodka.
Locating and piling all the ingredients onto my countertops, one by one, led me to think about this creative journey in floristry that I love so much.
Do these two tasks have anything in common? If so, what?
I’ve been married almost thirty-two years now, and I've stepped up my game in the kitchen since the initial I do. Just days after the ceremony, my husband recalls my phone call to a supportive family member, my dearest sister-in-law, a food scientist by trade. I hesitantly asked her, "How do I boil water?" Yep, it happened.
And she didn't embarrass, ridicule, or laugh at me. Her answer was quite simple and profound, "If you can read, you can cook." During that first year—and before Google—she answered a plethora of questions and defined multiple cooking terms. Now, on a rare occasion, she will ask me for a recipe. But I digress.
I started at the beginning—with the basics. It was important to experience firsthand what worked and what did not.
Isn't it the same with flowers and with cooking? Trust me. I've had my share of failures (with cooking and in learning to arrange flowers).
On my quest, I purchased books about cooking, from the basics within my tattered Better Homes & Gardens to the challenges of French cooking. I filled my library with books about floral design, floral wearables, floral you-name-it.
I read, studied, and took classes. Naturally, I asked questions, lots of them. My passion for flowers eventually led me to complete a Bachelor's degree in Agriculture and Horticulture.
I learned the scientific names for an assortment of varieties of plants. I studied how plants grow and how to design gardens that are appealing in all seasons. Certainly, a degree isn't necessary to be a creative designer. However, it gave me an appreciation for how plants grow and the nutrients required to help them thrive.
It is an amazing design to consider how water can move upward and flow downward through a flower's stem. Learning important principles in processing will help the florist with longevity and beautiful blooms.
An understanding of key design elements is essential, too. In both the kitchen or flower studio, our craft needs these six basics to come together for a beautiful presentation: proportion, balance, harmony, rhythm, color, and texture. Studying the foundational principles and practice, practice, practice takes time, money, sweat, long nights, and sleepless weekends. Yes, it's worth it.
Baking happens methodically, step-by-step, similar to making an arrangement. Choosing our vessel (or baking pan) is an important first step to create a certain style for our particular occasion.
Taking the time to prep our containers is crucial to our product's end result. We are blessed to have so many options available—chicken wire, tape, foam, etc. How many times have I taken a shortcut only to be reminded later by my conscience, "I told you so."
Neither chefs nor florists jam all the ingredients into the container at once. We build slowly, carefully, using our discerning eye, and following our recipes. As an experienced baker, I still refer to my chocolate cake recipe, and that's okay.
Recipes give us focus and direction. They help ensure that we have the right ingredients on hand and don't overspend on needless supplies. It allows us to look over the recipe of ingredients and make substitutions where necessary, albeit easier with arranging flowers than with baking. We gather our ingredients, our supplies, and we begin. Our recipe gives us the plan. In our heads, we envision the result.
I come to my next point: layers. We want our flowers to look natural, just as if they were freshly picked from our gardens. A one-layer chocolate cake is okay for my family but is not what I want to present to my guests at the dinner party. I want that wow factor.
To do that, I need layers and layers of flowers. The bottom layers of an arrangement are perfect for those less expensive blooms, which help create an armature on which to build.
Middle layers contain focal and hearty flowers, but those that always grab my attention are the flowers at the top—little gems that bounce, that command our attention with their delicate, winding stems.
They are purposefully placed. Pinterest fills our head with grandiose ideas, with how we can take the appearance (of basically anything) from lifeless and uninteresting to "be still my heart" breathtakingly gorgeous. I haven't arrived, and I honestly still consider myself a student.
Let's keep striving—from ordinary to extraordinary—one day at a time.
Happy flowering, my friends!
Want to make the chocolate cake? Click here to find the recipe!