Why do I share my story? Every ikebana journey is different, but they all share a common thread—discovery, creativity, and connection. In this series, I share my personal path in ikebana, from my first encounter to the lessons I’ve learned over the years. My hope is to inspire you to explore your own ikebana story and, if you're a teacher, to share yours with your students. Ikebana grows when we share it—let’s grow together.
35 years ago, we settled into a small, picturesque Japanese town about 300 km north of Tokyo. My husband started working at a university, while I, fresh out of landscape design school, was eager to learn more about Japanese gardens. My dream? To immerse myself in their magic. What awaited me, however, was far beyond what I could have imagined.

One day, our landlord—a sharp, no-nonsense woman—asked me what I planned to do with my time. “Sightseeing,” I replied with what I thought was harmless enthusiasm.
She frowned. Sightseeing wasn’t going to cut it. Our landlord, taking matters into her own hands, made a few determined phone calls. Before I even knew what had happened, I suddenly found myself introduced to Suzuki-san, one of the major Japanese landscape designers in the province of Niigata.
My sightseeing days were officially over, and I had gone from potential tourist to apprentice in the blink of an eye.
Suzuki-san was not just a garden designer but a mentor deeply rooted in Japanese tradition. “If you want to design a good Japanese garden,” he told me, “you must first understand Japanese culture and society.” And so, I dove in headfirst.
“If you want to design a good Japanese garden, you must first understand Japanese culture and society.”
Shigeichi Suzuki

Alongside my garden studies, I started exploring Japanese nature and culture. Tea ceremonies introduced me to the importance of precision and ritual. Kimono dressing taught me patience and grace (and how to breathe under multiple layers).
And then there was ikebana, the art of flower arranging. Out of all these cultural practices, ikebana resonated with me the most. Its quiet elegance and deep connection to nature spoke to something within me, though I didn’t realize at the time how much it would shape my future.
In Suzuki-san’s studio, my first tasks were design-based. He handed me thick Japanese instruction books and set me to work drafting garden layouts.

Only after months of this—and a great deal of learning by trial and error—did I move on to stone setting. But not in the gardens, oh no. My first lessons involved a box of sand, where I carefully arranged stones to perfection under his watchful eye.

While I appreciated the lessons, I couldn’t help but grow a little grumpy. What I really wanted was to work outdoors, with my hands in the earth and stones. I begged—politely, of course—until Suzuki-san finally relented. But first, he had a word with my husband to confirm it was “acceptable” for me to work alongside the men.
Luckily, Ben—who had already grown weary of my increasingly dramatic sighs and garden-induced frustrations—enthusiastically said yes. And just like that, my transition from a slightly disgruntled indoor apprentice to an exhilarated outdoor laborer was complete. It turns out that me working outside wasn’t just beneficial for my career; it did wonders for our young marriage, too.

When I finally joined the outdoor team, I was embraced with open arms. And while being a Caucasian woman in a traditionally male-dominated field made me stand out, I was also offered opportunities that I’ll forever be grateful for.
My unusual position even caught the attention of NHK national television, and I found myself featured on air twice—a young foreign woman hauling stones and building gardens in a world of men.
Insights
A message that I carry with me throughout my career is that art is never isolated. My time in Japan taught me that creativity is woven into the fabric of culture, society, and history. Whether it’s a tea ceremony, kimono, ikebana or a carefully placed stone, they reflect a way of living and seeing the world.
The next time you place a flower in a vase or admire a garden, remember: you’re participating in something far greater than just design. You’re engaging with the stories, traditions, and philosophies that give ikebana its soul.
Stay tuned for the next article, where I’ll share more about the start of my ikebana journey and how it opened my eyes to the many schools and styles of this beautiful art.
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