About the Collection
On the mountain slopes, on the rounded backs of the hills, the tall grasses sway in the wind. Paradoxically, even though we are inland, it feels as though we are watching waves. Amid this turmoil, the small wildflowers form a pattern like a starry sky. They cling to and follow the undulations like foam on the swell.
The road in this lively landscape offers a respite. It is a stoic, calm space; we simply expect it to guide us there, to our destination. Between the small villages, its winding path becomes the stage for another kind of turmoil—the one within ourselves. Between the mad urge to push down on the pedals and the wisdom to conserve energy for those moments when the road climbs steeply or when gusts of wind join the fray.
Cycling has this duality: it demands as much madness and instinct as it does the wisdom to engage with the landscape. While we may sometimes want to conquer it, we must also accept that there are moments when it carries us in the palm of its hand.
