Growing up in the Alps with my great-grandparents, my days were shaped by the rhythm of stories—mythic whispers, fleeting angels, and hidden demons. They lived through the birth of television yet never owned one, filling their lives instead with tales woven into bread, into sheep pastures, into the quiet magic of labor and memory. It was in this space, suspended between the ordinary and the uncanny, that I learned to see, dream, and create.