Roaming along the singular road that defines Pietrafitta, you catch a flavor of historic buildings with beautiful detail and unexpected splendor, juxtaposed with age, earthquake cracks and reinforcement.

History is carried in architectural scars… nothing is hidden
The stories are to be remembered, acknowledge and celebrated

My brain is primed to see rhythms, patterns, breaks and light and I am constantly drawn to the space in between… where the light gets in

   

Sitting in the mud of a freshly turned field, sculpting in the raw clay, I notice a tiny perfect snail leaving the slimy, glistening trail of his arduous forward-movement along my leg.

I love this metaphor of journeys, hardship and potential, creating gold from experience and possibilities from rubble and raw earth

While visiting neighbouring Settefratti, the mayor introduces us to an old village tree that had split in two.
With care, its trunk had been reassembled, supported and held together by metal straps… valued and reinforced with the same reverence as Rome’s archaeological columns.
As the tree mends, it produces the most beautiful life-bringing compost, inside, where it heals itself.

   

Story is a powerful thing
A connection between people and places
A shared recognition of our humanity
A truthful reminder of unembellished growth and potential

By Heather Dornan Wilson