Nov 17, 2025 MOMOGLOBAL FLOWERS ON IKEBANA, BIODYNAMICS, AND LIFE BETWEEN WORLDS For our latest Chop Talk, Hatchet, Brooklyn NY

Nov 17, 2025

MOMOGLOBAL FLOWERS ON IKEBANA, BIODYNAMICS, AND LIFE BETWEEN WORLDS

For our latest Chop Talk, we spent time with Kaya Abe Magee, the multidisciplinary creative and biodynamic farmer behind momoglobal flowers, with whom we recently collaborated with for our Osprey x Houdini release event,.

Kaya’s work sits at the intersection of design, ecology, and Japanese floral tradition, bridging a past life in global fashion with her current practice cultivating a 20-acre biodynamic flower farm in Jeffersonville, New York.  What makes Kaya compelling isn’t just the beauty she creates, but the philosophy behind it: a blend of Ikebana discipline, a deep respect for land stewardship, and a desire to build community through workshops, gatherings, and seasonal rituals. In this conversation, she shares how a career spanning Tokyo, London, Paris, and New York led her to farming; why biodynamics resonated more than conventional methods; and how she continues to weave together aesthetics, agriculture, and a life lived between worlds.

You have a rich background in fashion - you studied as a fashion stylist in Tokyo, worked in Tokyo and Paris for Yohji Yamamoto, and managed international wholesale and PR roles. What were the most formative lessons from that fashion world, and how have they carried over (or been challenged) by your transition into farming and floral design?

My time in the fashion world, studying as a stylist in Tokyo and working in Tokyo and Paris for Yohji Yamamoto across international wholesale and PR, shaped the foundation of how I see and create. The most formative lessons were not only about aesthetics, but about discipline, philosophy, and intention.

First, I learned that design must have meaning. At Yohji, nothing existed just to look beautiful, every line, texture, and silhouette needed a soul. That taught me to value concept over decoration, restraint over excess, and authenticity over trend. That same approach guides my floral work: I focus on form, seasonality, and emotion, rather than arranging simply for prettiness.

Second, I learned the power of narrative and atmosphere. Fashion, especially at that level, is storytelling, not product. Whether in a runway show, a garment, or a fabric choice, it is about crafting a world. Floral design, to me, holds the same narrative potential: an arrangement can express fragility, wildness, ceremony, or memory. Flowers become characters, not ingredients.

Third, craftsmanship and discipline were non-negotiable. I worked with people who devoted decades to mastering technical skill. That deeply influenced my respect for time, process, and repetition, values that transfer directly into farming and floral mechanics, where technique and timing dictate success.

When I transitioned to farming and floral design, many of these values carried over naturally, but they were also challenged in important ways:

• In fashion, I was trained to control every detail; in farming, I had to accept that nature has the final edit.

• The fashion world thrives on pushing boundaries; farming has taught me to listen, not impose.

• Luxury once meant rarity and innovation; now, for me, it means integrity, ecology, and connection to place.

Perhaps the biggest shift was realizing that in fashion, we create beauty, but in farming, we steward it. My work now is less about imposing an aesthetic and more about collaborating with the seasons, with weather, with soil, and with the imperfect poetry that nature offers.

In the end, both worlds taught me the same truth in different languages: real beauty is intentional, honest, and deeply felt, not manufactured.

Given your deep roots in fashion, style and international cities (Tokyo, London, Paris and New York), do you ever miss the pace, aesthetics or community of the fashion industry? If so, how do you carry that sense of aesthetic and international sensibility into your farm, flower-arrangement workshops, and community events (e.g., your “Shinrinyoku” concert/market in the Catskills)?

I do miss certain aspects of the fashion world, especially the pace, the constant exchange of ideas, and the feeling that everyone around you is obsessively committed to aesthetics, meaning, and craft. Cities like Tokyo, London, Paris and New York have their own creative electricity; there’s a shared language of curiosity and experimentation. I still carry that energy with me, but I’ve chosen to express it in a slower, more rooted way.

Rather than trying to replicate the fashion environment, I draw from it to elevate what I do now. The farm, my ikebana  workshops, and events like the “Shinrinyoku” concert and market are my way of merging that international artistic sensibility with nature, slowness, and community.

In fashion, I learned that beauty is not just visual, it’s experiential: atmosphere, gestures, silence, ritual, and storytelling matter as much as the object itself. I apply that same approach when designing an event or workshop. I think about textures, pacing, sound, scent, and emotional tone, not just flowers or products. For me, it’s about creating an immersive experience, not simply offering an activity or selling goods.

The “Shinrinyoku” gathering is a perfect example: it brings together music, artisans, natural materials, quiet moments, and shared food, almost like a rural version of a conceptual presentation or curated showroom. It becomes a place where people can feel part of something thoughtfully assembled and community, not just attend an event.

I may no longer live in a major city or work in runways or showrooms, but the aesthetic values I learned there are still very present, just translated into a context where beauty is lived, not rushed; where community forms slowly, not competitively; and where inspiration comes from soil, weather, and seasons rather than collections and calendars.

Ultimately, I didn’t leave aesthetics behind, I simply grounded them.

Your choice to farm biodynamically is very intentional. On your website you describe the difference between biodynamic and conventional/organic methods (stronger soil life, thicker fragrant petals, etc.). What drew you specifically to biodynamic agriculture rather than conventional organic farming, and what have you found most rewarding, but also most difficult, in practicing biodynamics on your landscape in upstate New York?

I was drawn to biodynamic agriculture because it aligned with what I’ve always believed about beauty, craft, and materials: the source matters as much as the final form. When I began learning about growing flowers, I realized I didn’t want to simply “produce” them, I wanted to understand the life of the soil, the rhythm of the land, and the invisible forces that shape vitality. Biodynamics offered a holistic, almost poetic approach that went beyond the absence of chemicals; it emphasized relationship, intention, and the farm as a living organism with its own identity.

Compared to conventional organic farming, biodynamics felt less like a set of rules and more like a philosophy of stewardship. I was especially drawn to how it integrates cosmic rhythms, composting as a form of transformation, and a closed-loop approach to fertility. I also resonated with the idea that when the soil is truly alive, when microbial activity, fungi, minerals, and organic matter are balanced, plants don’t just survive; they express themselves fully. You can literally see and smell the difference in the flowers: thicker petals, richer color saturation, stronger fragrance, and better vase life. That kind of vitality can’t be manufactured after the fact- it’s born in the soil.

The most rewarding part has been building a relationship with my land. Biodynamics slowed me down in a way that felt radical after working in international fashion. Instead of pushing for efficiency or scale, I learned to listen: to weather, to animal life, to soil texture, to plant behavior. Over time, I began to sense that I was collaborating with the place rather than directing it. That level of intimacy feels deeply meaningful.

The most challenging part is that biodynamics demands patience and faith. Results don’t always appear quickly, and there’s no shortcut or product you can add when something goes wrong. The climate in upstate New York also presents unique challenges, unpredictable seasons, late frosts, extreme rains, and wildlife pressure, so the biodynamic approach requires adaptability, observation, and emotional resilience. Some years the land rewards you beautifully; other years feel humbling and mysterious.

Even with its challenges, biodynamics has reshaped how I think about value. It’s not just about the flowers I harvest, it’s the quality of relationship I cultivate with the land, the community, and the unseen forces that sustain life.

In the end, it is less a method and more a way of being.

As someone who navigates multiple identities, farmer, designer, teacher, creative director,  how do you protect your own creativity and avoid burnout? Are there rituals, places in nature, or daily practices that help you reset and return to your work with clarity?

Protecting my creativity has become just as important as expressing it. Wearing multiple identities, farmer, art of ikebana artist and owner of small company, means that my work can easily bleed into every corner of my life. At first, I thought balance meant trying to give each role equal time and energy, but I eventually realized it was more about rhythm than balance. Some seasons are outward and expressive; others are quiet and regenerative. Accepting that has been a major part of avoiding burnout.

I try to protect my creativity by staying in close relationship with nature without always turning it into work. As a farmer and art of ikebana artist, it would be easy to see a walk as scouting, or harvesting as planning, but I need moments where the land is simply a presence, not a project. Being outside at dusk or before sunrise, listening to sounds instead of thinking in tasks, helps reset my nervous system and my imagination.

I also rely on a few personal practices and rituals:

• Seasonal pacing instead of constant productivity: I allow myself winter as a true creative dormancy, similar to the soil, not laziness, but necessary rest.

• Intentional solitude: At least a few times a week, I spend time alone outside without my phone, notebook, or agenda. Ideas tend to arrive after I stop asking for them.

• Body-based grounding: Gardening with bare hands, slow stretching, wood chopping, or simply breathing cold air helps me shift from thinking to sensing.

• Creative boundaries: Not every good idea becomes a project. Some remain private, just for joy.

• Reconnection with beauty that is not “useful”: Museums, live music, small handcrafted objects, poetry, scent, anything that reminds me that creativity is nourishment, not performance.

What brings me back to clarity, more than anything, is remembering that creativity isn’t produced, it is invited. Nature naturally moves between expression and deep rest; when I allow myself the same cycle, I return to my work with far more integrity, curiosity, and presence

How do you enjoy your time in Upstate NY?  Do you have any favorite outdoor activities and if so, what are they?

Even though it’s only about two hours from the city, it feels like a completely different world, quiet, spacious, and incredibly beautiful. One of my favorite ways to spend time here is by gathering with people and cooking, especially with ingredients grown on the land or sourced locally. There’s something deeply grounding about preparing food that reflects the season and then sharing it with others, whether it’s an impromptu outdoor meal, a small fireside gathering, or a long-table supper. Cooking becomes another form of creativity, hospitality, and nature-connection, just like floral design.

Whether I’m dipping in the slow, firewood-heated hot tub, swimming in the lake or river, wandering through the forest, or cooking with friends as the sun sets, what I appreciate most is the sense of slowness, presence, and genuine community that this place invites.