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On a family trip to Tuscany, Italy, we heard about a picturesque old village sitting on top of a mountain overlooking soft green hills with views of the distant sea.
Artists have always been drawn to this little village, they said, and many families lived there as a small community; the pathways were roamed by kittens and hardly any tourists dropped by.

So we drove off in search of this fabulous village only to discover that our GPS failed us soon after taking off. No signals whatsoever could be received and so we had to rely on the few directions, on even fewer street signs and on gut instinct.
Higher and higher we drove onto the Tuscan mountains until we found ourselves in the midst of low clouds. Driving through the misty green scenery, I was reminded of the saga of Avalon. Where was our fantastical little village? Were we even going in the right direction? Had it perhaps been swallowed by the mist, never to be found again?
We stopped often during our search for the village, marveling at the landscape, the changing soft light and the beautiful colors and shapes of the lush Tuscan hills. Every minute of it was full of surprises.
Eventually, after searching high and low for the village, we did find it, only for our daughter to complain about it being a ‚crumbling old tiny town‘.

This photographic series documents our search for this magical place.
Some of the photographs show parts of the actual village, while others depict the things I captured along the way and others still tell the story figuratively speaking.

I view this series of images as a documentation of how we constantly search something – for a meaning in our lives, hoping to fulfill our dreams, for a feeling of finally coming home.