Let me introduce myself: I’m Claudia. A quirky mix of Italian, Trentino, and German roots. I know, it sounds like a craft liqueur with questionable balance, but somehow it just works. I live with my three dogs in what I like to call a little corner of paradise - and no, that’s not just a cute line, it’s literally my garden. I love flowers, skimming the morning news, white Port, and vintage German porcelain - the kind your ninety-something aunt might collect. I know it’s a niche vibe, but honestly, it brings me a kind of aesthetic peace that makes zero sense and yet feels totally right.

Pizzon is a village at either the beginning or the end of the world—it depends on your perspective. Sixty-four souls live there, and I believe I’ve come to know them all by now. When you meet, you greet each other; at least a nod is mandatory. At the center of the small valley stands a fountain: once, the housewives washed their clothes there, nowadays dogs splash around in it, and in the height of summer, a few children dive in amid laughter and splashes. At sunset, it becomes the headquarters of a group of local women who soak their feet in the water while exchanging mischievous chatter. Watching them from my terrace is pure bliss; joining them is an honor. A couple of times a year, there’s a celebration: everyone brings something, and there’s plenty to drink—after all, we are in Veneto. When they invite me, they say “only for those from Pizzon.” Maybe, I tell myself, I’m becoming one of them, now. There’s only one road that leads here, and it ends here too. No bars, no supermarkets, just silence. In the mornings, the birds sing; in summer, the grass grows tall, and insects I’ve never seen before inhabit every nook and cranny. Thunderstorms roll through the hills, and I feel safe. Pizzon is an idyll.

Jar /dʒɑr/ a glass or clay container with a wide opening at the top and sometimes a fitted lid, usually used for storing food. A home also is a container. It holds our secrets, our intimacy, the moments we cherish, and those we wish to forget. It contains us. Jar was born from the desire to carefully preserve the lives of those who choose to enter it.

Here at Jar, we love the small and seemingly insignificant things: the scent of freshly cut grass, the bread slowly browning at the edges in the oven, the sound of cicadas when the heat gets serious. We love the pollen carried by the wind, the gentle silences, the slow conversations with those who pass by — even if just for a coffee or a smile.

We offer a service built on care, professionalism, and most of all, love. Our goal is for everyone who chooses us to feel free — free to step away, even just for a moment, from the noise of the world. To breathe in the air of our little, imperfect, and authentic corner of peace.

In 2023, I came across this somewhat run-down farmhouse and instantly fell in love with it. I wanted to give it the attention it deserved. I wanted to show others what I saw when I looked at it — potential. I wanted to take something broken and restore it. Because, at the end of the day, it’s all about care. Taking care of things, of people, of animals, of everything around us. The restoration took two years, and I took care of it personally, alongside skilled craftsmen who helped me, confused me, made me frustrated, taught me countless lessons, and - most importantly - trusted my vision, even when it sometimes felt more like instinct than a concrete plan. The result is a beautifully chaotic yet coherent blend of different styles and eras. I didn’t want to strip the house of its soul by over-modernizing it, nor did I try to make it "trendy." I simply wanted it to be a home: warm, inviting, and just a little bit old-fashioned. The kind of place where, as soon as you step inside, it feels like you’ve always belonged there, even if it’s your first time walking through the door.