I’ve been self-employed since I was 17. One of my first businesses was pinstriping cars. On a lunch break, I visited my mother in Pasadena and noticed a pile of aviary wire in her garden. In a flash, I saw a dolphin in that pile and had to create it. My sister, who was studying horticulture at Cal Poly, said, “You plant ficus in it and you’ll have topiary.”

After I’d made a pair of dolphins, I thought, I’ve got to sell these. I took them to a seafood market, which bought the pair. That changed the course of my life. I found a passion that has propelled me for the past 45 years.

When people think of topiary, they imagine shrubs or trees clipped into ornamental shapes. My approach is different. I create a metal framework that the plant grows up into. Starting out, I used bolt cutters to snip my designs out of steel, and I hand-bent my frames. My arms got incredibly strong.

The horticulturist from Disney Anaheim saw my topiary at the San Diego Zoo in 1991. When Disney needed to replace its Dumbo topiary, the staff called me. Now Disney is a main client. I’ve made Dumbo for Hong Kong, Mickey for Shanghai and Fantasia characters for Orlando.

When I got a plasma cutter, my husband said, “You bought what for 40K?” But adapting to new technologies has allowed me to grow my business and stay relevant. Today I’m using CAD software with the idea of 3D printing a line of smaller sculptural frames. There’s always more to learn.

I still feel inspired to create, though injuries have slowed me some. Before I retire, I’d like to pass my craft on to like-minded individuals—people who’ll love this work as much as I have. We all need to have something we care deeply about, whether it’s a home or a cause or a craft. It’s where our soul will live once we’re gone. —As told to Gregg Segal