People often ask me how I come up with some of the crazy sets we build in the studio. The answer isn’t always glamorous. Sometimes it’s Pinterest. Sometimes it’s a movie. Sometimes it's seeing something as I'm driving and I think "oh, that would be cool". Sometimes it’s an idea that refuses to leave me alone. And sometimes… it’s my mom’s first experience with an online shopping spinner. Which, in hindsight, probably should have come with adult supervision.
I’d heard enough stories about online shopping spinners to know they were probably best avoided. Mom hadn’t. In fact, I didn’t even know she was on an app that we had never used before! But, while I was out, she was happily spinning away, convinced she was unlocking bigger discounts every time another offer popped up. Another $100 off. Another amazing deal. Another spin. She genuinely thought she was saving us money LOL.
A few days later, boxes started arriving at the studio. One. Two. Five.…I lost count. We were really busy with other things when these were arriving so we put them aside and would unpack them together, honestly about two weeks later. When we did finally unpacked everything, I remember looking at the growing pile and asking, “Mom… how many flowers did you buy?” She looked at me and, in a slightly shaking voice, said, “I… I don’t know.” Which, if I’m honest, wasn’t especially reassuring.
The flowers just kept coming. Paper flowers. Plastic flowers. Flowers with stems. Flowers without stems.Big flowers. Small flowers. Bouquets of flowers. Flat flowers. Folded flowers. Fluffy flowers. The pile kept getting bigger until it completely took over the studio. I looked at it. Then I looked at Mom. Then back at the flowers. I don’t think I said a word for what felt like forever.
Mom has since told me she was absolutely convinced I was about to tell her they were useless. That we’d never use them. That we’d just throw them away. She kept apologising. Over… and over… and over.
The truth? I wasn’t looking at a pile of flowers anymore. I was looking at a photograph. The oversized flowers belonged in the foreground. The smaller flowers could disappear into the background. The fluffy flowers would soften the edges and fill in gaps. The flowers with stems would create movement. The more I looked, the less I saw flowers… and the more I saw a set.
Poor Mom was still apologising. I’d barely heard a word she’d said. I was already building the photograph in my head. Once we’d recovered from what we now call The Great Flower Incident, I decided we were going to use as many of those paper flowers as we could. Which meant Mom and I had a few very busy days ahead of us.
If you’ve ever bought paper flowers online, you’ll know they don’t arrive looking like flowers. They arrive flat. Folded. Squashed. For the next three days, Mom sat patiently unfolding and fluffing paper flowers. I don’t think either of us could have counted how many she did. As each flower was ready, she’d toss it over to me. I’d find a place for it on the set. Then she’d fluff another. And another. And another.
Little by little, the pile beside Mom got smaller… while the set beside me got bigger. Most of those flowers found a home. Not because we needed every single one. But because every time I stepped back, I’d find another little gap where just one more flower made the scene feel more complete. Slowly, the mountain of flowers disappeared. In its place was the set I’d imagined from the very beginning.
By the time our model arrived, there wasn’t a hint of flower chaos left. The studio had become a carefully crafted set. Every flower had a purpose. Every colour had been carefully chosen. Every layer had been placed to create depth, texture and the feeling that she’d stepped into another world.
The makeup artist finished. The lights came on. Our model stepped onto the set. Then I picked up my camera. The photograph I’d been seeing in my head while Mom was still apologising…finally existed.
People often ask what makes a creative photograph different. For me, it starts long before anyone stands in front of the camera. It starts with seeing possibilities where other people see problems. Or, in this case… seeing a carefully crafted set where my mom saw one very expensive mistake.
Mom still apologises for The Great Flower Incident. I still laugh. Because every time I look at these photographs, I don’t think about the spinner. I don’t think about the boxes. I don’t even think about the three days we spent fluffing flowers. I think about my mom. She thought she’d ruined things. The truth is… she accidentally made the idea possible.
Sometimes the best photographs don’t start with a camera.
Sometimes they start with your mom accidentally buying far too many paper flower…
and a photographer seeing something nobody else could.
