Growing up in the Alps under the care of my great-grandparents, our lives were shaped by the rhythm of stories—stories that carried the hush of myth, a flicker of angels, and many hidden demons. They lived in a time that had witnessed the birth of television, yet never owned one. Instead, our days were steeped in tales—told while kneading dough for bread, while cutting grass for the sheep—woven into the quiet magic of daily work, memory, and endurance. It was in this world, suspended between the ordinary and the uncanny, that I grew up, and it is this world that continues to shape the way I see, dream, and create.