From flop to flat lay

I had this vision in my head. One of those beautiful, slow-living moments pulled from the pages of a storybook. I imagined using the flowers we gathered as a family to make hand-printed fabric. Something soft and cottony, covered in botanical silhouettes. Something I’d sew vintage lace around the edges of. Something we’d use as a tablecloth—a beautiful mess of petals and memories to eat our meals on.

It wasn’t just about the print. It was about trying to bottle up a feeling. Our time in the garden. Our hands gathering blooms. The love and connection that grows with the seasons.

But almost immediately, I realized something wasn’t right.

The cement I’d chosen as a surface was too gritty. No matter how carefully I laid out the petals, all I got were sad, blurry blobs of brown and mustard. Definitely not the crisp floral prints I’d hoped for.

Disappointment hit me quick. I’d seen others say this was such a fun and easy process, and I’d had high hopes. Golden hour was fading. My flowers were starting to wilt. And I remember just standing there, feeling that familiar sinking feeling: this didn’t work.

But over the years, I’ve learned that disappointment doesn’t have to be a dead end.

Sometimes, it’s just the beginning of a pivot.

---

The Art of the Pivot

When something’s not working, I usually pause. I take a step back, breathe, and look at what I do have.

That day, I had a crisp white sheet. The last golden rays of sunlight. A basket full of flowers. A camera. And a mallet.

So I asked myself, what can I do with this, right now?

That’s when the idea clicked. What if I don’t print them? What if I photograph them?

I’d already removed the stems, so I started playing with a flat lay arrangement. At first, it was just about not wasting the flowers. But as I began placing them on the sheet, watching the light catch their edges, something in me softened.

The failure had cracked something open.

---

Preserving the Process

That spontaneous pivot—from failed print to floral flat lay—felt like more than just making the best of a bad moment. It felt like preserving something bigger.

Not just the beauty of the blooms, but the proof that I can pivot. That I can meet a moment of disappointment and respond with creativity and curiosity instead of defeat.

A few years ago, that flop would’ve unraveled me. But this time, I pivoted in 30 minutes. And I was proud. Not just of the images I created, but of the growth they represented.

I even thought, I want to print these photos and hang them up. Not because they were part of my plan. But because they weren’t. And that’s exactly what made them beautiful.

---

Learning to Fail

I still get that gut-punch when something doesn’t work. The panic. The frustration. But now I let those feelings pass through me instead of staying stuck in them.

I’ve learned to use that energy as momentum.

Trying things I used to avoid because I “might be bad at it” has helped a lot. I am bad at a lot of them, at first. But I keep going. And every time I keep trying instead of quitting, I build that creative muscle a little more.

I think that’s what failure has taught me. How to move. How to adapt. How to try again. Not because I expect to get it right the second time. But because something worthwhile often blooms in the trying.

Doing hard things has made failure feel less scary. And success feel so much more meaningful.

Sure, it’s great to nail something on the first try. But the joy of having it finally click after failing five times? That joy is something perfectionism never gave me.

Creativity is like a muscle. And sometimes, like the strongest bodybuilders, we grow most when we push ourselves to the point of failure.

---

In the End

I didn’t get the flower-printed tablecloth I envisioned.

But I got something better. A reminder that my creativity doesn’t hinge on things going right. It thrives when I let go of control, adapt, and say yes to what the moment is offering me.

So if something flops, and it will, don’t panic.

Take a step back. See what’s still blooming at your feet.

And pivot.

You never know what might be waiting there.