In Praise of the Botanical Garden
The Bellevue Botanical Garden has been one of my most important creative spaces. Season after season, it offers something new — a dahlia in full bloom, a ranunculus catching the morning light, a coneflower standing tall against a summer sky.
I first visited the Bellevue Botanical Garden many years ago, and I have been returning ever since. It is one of those places that rewards repeated visits — there is always something new to discover, always a different angle or a different light.
The dahlias are perhaps my favourite subject there. They bloom in late summer and early autumn, and the variety is extraordinary — from small pompom forms to dinner-plate dahlias the size of a face. When rain has fallen and the petals hold droplets of water, they become almost impossibly beautiful.
Botanical photography requires a different kind of patience than landscape work. You are working close, often very close, and small movements — a breath of wind, a shift in the light — can change everything. I have learned to work slowly, to wait for stillness, and to take many frames.
In the garden, I am always a student. There is always more to learn about light, about form, about the extraordinary complexity of a single flower.
I am also drawn to the ranunculus — those layered, tissue-paper blooms in shades of pink and coral and cream. Up close, they reveal a spiral geometry that feels almost mathematical. The more I photograph flowers, the more I appreciate the precision and beauty of natural forms.
In the garden, I am always a student. There is always more to learn about light, about form, about the extraordinary complexity of a single flower. I hope these images convey some of that wonder.