I was only half a year old, when my grandmother died. I know her only through the stories my mother told me. And I own her black, conical shaped hat.

My grandmother spent all her life in a small peasant village in Austria, but she always dreamed of doing long journeys to far-off places like America or Venice.

One day, when I was in this city of dreams, suddenly her hat appeared – swung on the waves in front of Piazza San Marco and disappeared. Later I saw the hat on a Gondola traversing the Canale Grande, near the fish market. And in the afternoon the hat fell down from the sky, a few steps from Ponte Rialto.

Since this Venice trip the hat seems to follow me. It appeared at numerous places and wherever I see it, I take pictures.