In September 2022, I spent a month in the Tuscan countryside living a perfectly indulgent lifestyle as an artist-in-residence at Villa Lena. I had a room in a 19th century aristocrat’s villa overlooking a garden and verdant rolling hills, was surrounded by an eclectic mix of artists, spent most days painting by the pool, and was fed one devastatingly delicious meal after another. As artists, we were nurtured and nourished, thriving in role-playing the Italian lifestyle through each Aperol Spritz, carbonara, and passeggiata. Dinners that turned into hours long night caps with bottles of wine and ashtrays full of cigarette butts. Morning swims with poolside cappuccinos, sunset dancing in olive groves. Impromptu fiddle playing that caught the ears of cooks fresh off their shifts. Meals foraged from the surrounding land, brioche overstuffed with cream, fresh flowers around every corner.
I’ve been wanting to write about this experience for some time now. As overused as the term “life-changing” is, that’s exactly what this month was for me. I approached art making through a new lens, met a lot of incredible people, and figured out what direction to take my life in. I’ve been to a fair amount of artist residencies in the past decade, but there really was something in the water at this one. I cried tears of joy at our final dinner together as I made a toast to the wondrous serendipity of each of us just happening to be at the villa that month. That particular group of people will likely never be reunited as a whole again, and surely not in the same way. It was this extraordinary blip in time in which rest, connection, and creativity was of utmost importance. Food and conversation was in abundance, we were surrounded by beauty, and the hour of the day barely held any significance. Pomegranates grew in front of a salmon pink villa, frescos adorned the ceilings, and a grand marble staircase led us to our rooms. We were artists posing as aristocrats, and it was glorious.
To further set the scene, it’s important to note that Villa Lena’s operations are three-fold: it functions as an artist residency, a boutique hotel, and an agriturismo. Artists and some of the hotel staff live in the villa, while hotel guests are dispersed amongst luxurious rooms in renovated farmhouses and stables, and a few smaller villas throughout the property. I have been thinking, writing, and making art about leisure, and everything that surrounds it, for years. It was an amazing opportunity to spend extended time in a holiday hotel setting. Because let’s be clear: Villa Lena is a hotel built entirely for holidays. There is no one staying here on a business trip, on a quick stopover on their way elsewhere, because the other hotels were full. This is a place, and an experience, that every guest has sought out. They’re at Villa Lena because they envisioned a holiday spent in an aesthetically pleasing environment with ample time by the pool and delicious food. Maybe they’ll partake in a pasta making class, a floral workshop, a little yoga, or a hike in the countryside, but the primary activity is loafing in a beautiful place.
A farm-to-table restaurant, San Michele, serves breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There’s a certain air to starting your day with a generous hotel breakfast buffet. The coffee feels endless and there are mountains of pastries. Everyone looks fresh, even if they’re hungover, as they sip and chew in their resort wear. Conversations of sunburns and the plot of novels read by the pool are overheard. Second helpings are savored because you’re on vacation. Nothing is rushed, diners trickle in and out at a leisurely pace. I tuned in each morning as if the scene was a favorite television show, watching the guests as I devoured whatever pastry caught my eye, before pocketing a piece of fruit on my way out the door.
As artists, we were free to do as we pleased throughout the day, reconvening for a family style dinner each evening. I spent my days as a poolside devotee, painting watercolors and spying on sunbathers. Stuart had been up since dawn foraging flowers from the hotel property that he’d then utilize in floral arranging workshops with hotel guests. Annie had also been up early to teach yoga on a platform overlooking olive trees, with Zoe usually in attendance to get limber before she retreated to what was an indoor space for yoga but was now her dance studio. I’d usually see Anna at breakfast and we’d chat before she’d be off to delicately embroider linen. Megan would typically make a mid-morning appearance at the pool, coffee in hand, for a little swim before walking down the hill to work on her music. And each day, Irina would be sure to remind us all what a unique situation we were living in between her sessions of shooting and editing a film.
Our schedules weaved in and out of each other’s, but I’d usually see each resident when they came by the pool for a bit of sun and a dip. I’d be tucked away at a table in the shade, art supplies spread about, with a view of the entire pool deck. In the third week of our residency, we all had a proper pool day together and it felt like the most wonderful use of our time. We laid in the sun, drank Aperol Spritz, and gossiped about the hotel guests. That evening, Stuart led us all in an ikebana workshop, and made the simple act of looking at a flower feel like a poetic gesture. Another day, Megan serenaded us by the pool with a disco ball overhead catching the light as the sun set on the Tuscan hills. One afternoon we sat in a room with clouds and trellised vines painted on the ceiling as Annie shared her writing, awing us with her brilliant work. We danced in olive groves and artist studios, behind the villa and by the pool. Karaoke was performed using candles as microphones, and casual check ins could lead to hours long discussions. While we were diving into our artistic pursuits on our own, we were collectively reveling in each other’s company and letting loose.
While the seven of us were artists-in-residence that arrived by choice for the month of September, three other creatives were spending the entirety of Villa Lena’s April - October season as refugee artists-in-residence via support from Artists at Risk. Oleksii, Tetiana, and Iryna had fled the war in Ukraine and found themselves in Italy through grants that ensured their safe passage and provided them housing and studios within an artist residency environment. Oleksii’s marble sculptures in his Kiev studio sat at risk, but he had space to create amongst the Tuscan hills. Tetiana was busy with her watercolors that involved far greater skill than anything I was doing. And Iryna found a new talent for floral arranging through the mentorship of Stuart.
That isn’t to say everything was magically better for these three individuals. They would have much preferred to be peacefully at home, continuing the lives they had built. Iryna in particular struggled with western European culture and worried for the safety of her family and friends still in Ukraine. With limited English, she and I mostly used Google Translate to have a conversation. We’d chat about painting, how the light was falling over the distant hills at sunset, and how she was managing being so far from home. Over two years after their arrival to Italy, Oleksii, Tetiana, and Iryna are still there, living and working at Villa Lena. I was never expecting to be confronted with refugees of war at a boutique hotel in the Tuscan countryside — none of us were — and perhaps we all were naïve for that.
Our nightly dining found us either at the San Michele restaurant amongst the hotel guests, back at the villa at a table below frescoed ceilings, or just outside the villa, our feet upon small stones, sheltered by an enormous holm oak tree. Once we supped in an olive grove, and on the autumnal equinox found ourselves at picnic tables inside Stuart’s flora-filled studio. It was always a feast. I have never been as gluttonous as I was during those dinners. Burrata spilling out on platters drizzled in olive oil, grilled polenta with caramelized onions and edible flowers, chewy rosemary focaccia, handmade gnocchi with sage, risotto served inside tiny pumpkins, crispy green salad fresh from the garden. And so much tiramisu. On our first night we were served tiramisu for dessert and made such a fuss about it, that it kept returning — enough times that we began to wonder if we were being trolled in some way. Can sugar be utilized as a joke?
The talent in the San Michele kitchen was remarkable. Given that Villa Lena is only open seasonally, the kitchen attracts a set of international cooks that have found their way there via gigs in Paris, Antwerp, or New Orleans. Pasta is handmade daily, there’s an in house pastry chef, and experimental sauces and ricottas are the norm. And everything revolves around the fresh produce grown in Gigi’s garden down the hill. The Italian climate is particularly friendly to farmers, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Gigi’s approach towards cultivating an organic kitchen that can feed a hotel and artist residency is truly impressive. He knows the land well, treats each plant with utmost care, and respects the whims of nature. A simple carrot from Gigi’s garden was one of the most flavorful carrots I’ve ever tasted. Chef Dom was in charge, but the skill and dedication of everyone on his team paired with the outstanding quality of ingredients at their disposal made that kitchen illustrious.
Caterina and Segundo arrived in the second week of our residency with a casual introduction from Dom telling us that they’d be taking care of most of our dinners moving forward. Little did we know we were in for one exquisite meal after another. I am not exaggerating when I say Caterina and Segundo’s cooking is the best food I’ve ever eaten in Italy. I figured they were just showing off, but when I visited them at their farmhouse in Lavagna last fall, I learned that their culinary gifts extend to every meal, no matter where their kitchen may be. When I eat their food, I am simply baffled as to how they managed to make something so delicious again.
Mushrooms would be foraged during the day and singing with flavor on our plates that night. One dinner was themed around grapes and every inventive way to use them. Another evening, as I couldn’t imagine eating another bite, Segundo looked me in the eye and told me I would like the fish they’d prepared, and as if in a trance, I obliged. It was phenomenal. They grilled pears and placed bowls of homemade mascarpone with flower petals on the table. An special dinner was focused entirely on paying tribute to Gigi and his garden: bruschette with wild basil and roasted garlic, fried zucchini flowers, pumpkin soup with roasted almonds and chili oil, tortelli filled with ricotta and chard with a sorrel and nasturtium pesto in honor of Gigi’s grandmother. And for dessert: watermelon granita with basil oil and wild mint, using the very last watermelon of the season.
The care Caterina and Segundo extended through their cooking shone brightest on one of the last night’s of our residency. The energy was high that night as Oleksii, Tetiana, Stuart, Zoe, and Annie danced their hearts out to “This Must Be The Place” by Talking Heads minutes before bowls of borscht were brought out from the kitchen. With candles lit all down the table, we took our seats, and Caterina spoke about how she and Segundo wanted to give the Ukrainians a taste of home. They had worked hard to make a meal that honored the traditional flavors of Ukraine, and hoped their creations would measure up. After a flavor-packed borscht, cabbage rolls, dumplings, and sour cream followed. It all was heavenly, per usual, and received enthusiastic approval from Oleksii, Tetiana, and Iryna. I cried three times that night, so overcome by the kindness extended and the joy it brought, simply through food. When the Ukrainian teenage boy who worked in the restaurant said the borscht reminded him of his mother’s, I was a goner. Everything Caterina and Segundo make is delicious, but it’s their thoughtfulness that elevates what they do.
The twenty-second marked the autumnal equinox, and Stuart insisted on hosting dinner in his studio to mark the occasion. Grapevines, pomegranates, rosemary, and a variety of flowers hung from the ceiling, while candles and flora dotted the room. Picnic tables were adorned with blossoming bulbs and skinny little candles, each bending to and fro. Caterina and Segundo provided yet another excellent meal before the tables were pushed aside and dancing took over. It was one of those nights where everyone was euphoric and no oddity could spoil the mood. Throughout it all, Megan was snapping away with her instant Fujifilm camera, capturing the evening, and the entire residency, through a nostalgic lens.
Nearly every day that September, I’d arrive at the pool just after breakfast and typically had the space to myself for an hour or two. I’d walk around or sit in a chair and look out at the scene before me — glistening water, striped umbrellas, cypress trees, the valley below, pink villas punctuating the landscape — and try to be as present as possible. I wanted to savor the moment I was in, but I also think that subconsciously I was trying to commit every detail to memory. I already knew that this was a time and place I would mentally be escaping to in the future. And I wasn’t wrong, I think back on it often. It was a month of extraordinary kindness, inspiration, and fun. I awoke with a view of a garden and was fed with art and flowers and the freshest food every day. Tuscany is immeasurably beautiful. I am certainly not the first to say that. But to have taken in the light and landscapes that have been painted for centuries alongside a singular group of people that made each day more special than the last has cemented it in my mind as one of the most exceptional places on Earth.
My latest playlist leads with a song Megan wrote about our time at Villa Lena, aptly titled “Lena.” It’s a dreamy tune, with lots of rich French horn and references to our blissful month in the Italian countryside. Give it a listen, and let the slew of fun songs that follow set the mood for days filled with utmost camaraderie amongst friends new and old. Saluti!
— Katie
I would love to do this retreat, sounds like magic.
Loving the details of the days and the enjoyment of all the experiences - not only the incredible venue but the beauty of the fellow residents. It is a reminder to savor such experiences ...large and small.