Between hills, forests and flowers is where my grandmother grew up. Her mother passed away when she was sixteen. Five years later her father was murdered. How, where and why remains a mystery. Shortly after, she and her younger brother left - leaving behind not only her home, but also her youth.
I grew up mythicising her stories from those places, where long, hard days of physical labor could not harden their souls. Instead, what always remained was gratitude for life.
More than sixty years after her father was murdered, I revisited the area where she grew up, sometimes alone, sometimes together with her. I give voice to the landscape that shaped my grandmother as a person. In doing so, a deep affection for those places grew in me.
Only the flowers, trees, sticks and stones still preserve within them the truth. They are the same flowers, trees, sticks and stones that allowed me to understand her resilience and strength, which I have admired all my life.