The market wakes before the city. Cool concrete, buckets of roses, and vendors who know our standing order by heart—we walk the aisles with a list and leave room for impulse.
Back at the studio, stems are re-cut, sorted by vase life, and laid out for the day's commissions. Ribbon tests happen in natural light near the window.
This rhythm—market, bench, dispatch—is the spine of Taiba. Everything else is choreography around fresh stems.
