Stems never behave the way the picture in your head suggested; one tall bloom tips the whole thing off-balance and you're rebuilding it for the third time.

There's a real eye to develop for color, negative space, and which flower carries the arrangement, and early attempts look crowded or stiff before that instinct arrives.

But the meditative rhythm of cutting and placing, and the moment an arrangement suddenly clicks into something you'd stop and look at, keeps pulling you back to the bucket of stems.