I came across this garden bed in late summer in London with the heleniums and echinaceas were doing what they do best — refusing to behave. Coral, scarlet, sunset orange, every flower head leaning in a different direction, tall red hot pokers pushing up through the middle like quiet exclamation marks. As a former gardener, I know how much patience goes into a planting like this, and how the reward is always that one moment when everything peaks at once and the bed becomes pure colour and movement. Working with oils, I let the palette knife and brush carry the energy of the flowers themselves, building thick layers of red, orange and rose against the deep, almost moody green of the foliage behind. I wanted you to feel the buzz of a hot afternoon in the garden — bees somewhere, the grass dry underfoot — and the small, contained joy of standing in front of a bed that has decided to put on a show. Gardens, like paintings, are about composing chaos until it sings.