Louis-Géraud Castor
From Art Dealer To
Haute Couture Florist

Maison Ë How would you define yourself?

Louis-Géraud Castor “Florist” is a beautiful word that encapsulates my profession—one that I approach with the sensibility of an artisan.

M.Ë In what kind of environment did you grow up?

L.C. I grew up in Saint-Mandé, though part of my schooling took place in the Marais district, where my studio is now located. My father was an auctioneer. I studied Art History and Archaeology at the Sorbonne, at the Institut Michelet, the very place where my daughter is now pursuing her studies.

I was quickly drawn into the world of art dealing. I had the privilege of learning the trade under Francine Grünwald, absorbing her vision, taste, and legacy. Francine is the granddaughter of Karl Grünwald—the renowned Viennese art dealer who represented Schiele and Klimt. She herself ran a gallery on Rue Dupetit-Thouars.

M.Ë How did your career evolve over the first 20 years?

L.C. I specialized in 20th-century decorative arts. Buying, appraising, exhibiting—everything was interconnected. I took part in many fairs in Paris, New York, and especially London, where I also worked on showcasing objects. We collaborated extensively with Rose Uniacke, an interior designer who works with Victoria Beckham, among others. Her approach exemplifies a unique British sensibility; an acute sense of collecting and an artful way of mixing fashion and art.

M.Ë What kind of pieces were you drawn to buying and selling?

L.C. I sought out unique pieces through meticulous research. I even wrote a book on Elisabeth Eyre de Lanux, an American designer and contemporary of Eileen Gray, who worked in the Parisian world I love: the Paris of Jacques Doucet. This was an era when influences from Japan, then so-called tropical countries, and imported materials infused new life into French decorative arts.

I was lucky enough to learn from great 20th-century dealers, like Anne-Sophie Duval on Quai Malaquais, who unearthed seemingly anonymous yet deeply charming objects. Over time, many of these pieces were rediscovered, and auction houses took over, diminishing the role of specialized intermediaries. Today, buyers focus on objects with already established value, and an entire world has faded away.

M.Ë Then your life took an interesting turn and floristry became a part of it. How did that come about?

L.C. I’ve always been fascinated by interiors and flowers, through books, particularly those I found at Colette, where I first discovered Lisa Cooper’s work, the Australian floral artist. I’ve always loved flowers: arranging simple bouquets, the kind once called “wildflower-style” in the ’90s. My father would buy bouquets from Christian Tortu, a master of arrangement. Later, in my adult life, as I travelled frequently, I used to bring flowers home as a ritual to mark the arrival of the weekend.

Flowers became not just a decoration but a medium, a way to channel my love for abstraction and minimalism. Suddenly, I realized that it was possible to work with volume, color, and floral diversity as though composing an artwork.

M.Ë How does your background in art dealing influence your work today?

L.C. I’ve applied my dealer’s eye to one of the most essential aspects: sourcing the flowers. Just as I was one of the first to arrive at the Saint-Ouen flea market, I’m now one of the first at Marché d’intérêt national de Rungis (the world’s largest wholesale market) selecting flowers much like art objects, considering both their destination and the desired effect. There’s a thrill in this search, akin to antique hunting, especially since some varieties are rare or gradually disappearing. This was an environmental issue I had never faced before. I strive to work with seasonal and locally sourced flowers. In winter, it’s more complicated, but we have mimosa from the Var region, poppies, and ranunculus from Italy, and hyacinths from the Netherlands. The beauty of flowers lies in their seasonality.

Beyond selecting flowers, my approach to composition and staging resonates with many fashion houses. Historically, fashion has always had a strong connection with flowers—as a source of inspiration and a powerful storytelling element. Very early on, I had the chance to work for Madame Prada, as well as for Loewe and a Shiseido fragrance, projects that truly excite me.

M.Ë Do you actually have your own garden and what does it look like?

L.C. I bought a garden in a small village, not far from my parents’ country house. It’s still uncultivated, but I envision a space filled with rhubarb, red kuri squash, cabbages, and Swiss chard, alongside kitchen garden flowers like dahlias, which I adore.

M.Ë In what ways do you nurture your connection with your clientele?

L.C. My first clients came from the art and fashion circles, eventually stumbling upon our studio on their way to the Thaddaeus Ropac gallery. And Instagram has been an incredible way to showcase my work. Over time, people have come to appreciate this seasonal rendezvous, especially in an era of hyper-connectivity. Suddenly, the first lilacs appear, winter fades, and we witness the arrival of sweet peas from Japan, where spring starts earlier. These moments mark the passage of time, the arrival of the weekend, the changing seasons. And the beauty of the ephemeral: some flowers, like flamed tulips, last ten days, while others quickly fade. It’s the power of nature at work.

M.Ë What are you currently working on?

L.C. Right now, we’re preparing the Amis de Centre Pompidou dinner, a major event for the first patrons of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Paris. One of my greatest challenges is sourcing flowers in quantities. Normally, we work in small batches—a dozen bouquets that can be seen on Instagram—but now, the task is to scale up. That’s another story.

Lately, I’ve also been reflecting on everything I have experienced over the past seven years: the scents, the textures we long to create, the elements we are missing when crafting a bouquet. I am working on a way to extend this universe.

M.Ë Do you sketch your compositions before creating them?

L.C. I am completely incapable of drawing! I usually receive guidance on a color or a shape, and from there, everything comes together instinctively.

Florists are said to be good colorists, and we’re lucky to have the most beautiful palette available. Designers envy us the endless shades of pink and subtle nuances nature provides.

Selecting flowers and assembling a bouquet, requires great precision, as I often remind my team. We sculpt in volume to create oval, fan-shaped, or cloud-like compositions. At the moment, for instance, to enhance the luminous yellow of mimosa, we strip away all the leaves until we achieve a light, airy, almost moss-like form. It resonates with my admiration for Yves Klein and his approach to color using sponges.

M.Ë How do you continue cultivating your sense of collecting?

L.C. My love for art and objects remains central. The relationship between a flower and its vase is essential. One cannot truly exist without the other. A beautiful object has the power to transform a space, and I have always known I would one day build a collection. When I first started, Francine Grünwald told me, “I never gift a bouquet without the vase to accompany it.” It struck a chord with me. There is such joy in hunting for exquisite yet affordable vases, in offering something lasting beyond the ephemeral beauty of flowers. I have remained faithful to this philosophy, cultivating long-term relationships with collectors and clients whose vases I regularly bring to life with blooms.

M.Ë Is there an ideal vase for you?

L.C. Many interiors today follow a minimalist aesthetic, often featuring simple glass tube vases. But this type of vase exposes unsightly stems and lacks the presence of terracotta, which keeps water cooler.

My fascination with ceramics naturally led me to collaborate with Mathilde Martin. Her world resonates with my artistic sensibilities—Alberto and Diego Giacometti, their sculptural plaster work. I’m drawn to imperfection, asymmetry—qualities also reflected in my bouquets. I love materials that invite touch. Together, we’re exploring archaic-shaped vases in matte plaster white, deep black textures reminiscent of lava, and a hammered metal collection. A series of unique pieces will emerge from our exchanges this year.

M.Ë What do flowers mean to you?

L.C. Flowers provide breathing space. A blooming magnolia transforms a room, suspends time, evokes Japan. Over the years, we don’t just discover new flowers; we uncover new facets in each bloom. Even as they fade, they remain beautiful, like pepper branches evolving day by day. At home, they move, shift from a table to a nightstand in a small silver cup. Flowers are a living medium.