The project took root during the renovation of my house—walls stripped back, floors lifted, everything in flux. Outside, the garden offered its own construction site: petals scattered like debris, stems collapsing under their own weight. Photographing those fallen blooms became a counter-renovation—an unplanned record of things coming apart even as something new was taking shape.

I work quickly, without staging, using the immediacy of a phone camera to keep the images honest. The method echoes Toni Catany’s sensual still-lifes, where ordinary flowers are elevated by direct observation rather than elaborate sets. In both cases, the subject is allowed to speak for itself; my task is simply to witness the moment it does.

Flora Vida also sits in dialogue with other contemporary examinations of impermanence. Laura Letinsky photographs the remains of a meal “after the fact,” probing the tension between ripeness and decay. Ori Gersht freezes a vase of flowers at the instant of explosive destruction, turning annihilation into creation. Irving Penn’s late flower portraits revel in blooms past perfection, insisting that beauty persists beyond the peak. My images share their premise: that the most direct route to truth is through what is already slipping away.

What remains is a concise study of transition—life, death, and the thin membrane between. Flora Vida invites viewers to look at what is usually swept aside and to recognise, in each discarded petal, the quiet evidence that change is constant work.