HIGH UPON A hill of tuff and sandstone, within the golden triangle of Tuscany’s medieval city-states of Florence, Siena, and Pisa, sits a coral and cantaloupe-pink villa. The surrounding grounds are lush in tones of green, sepia, and ochre, depending on the temperament of the seasons; the earth is abundant. It’s early spring, and the temperature has climbed into the high 60s. The villa, a nineteenth-century structure at the center of a 1,200-acre property, was reborn in the last decade as a meeting place for pleasureful respite and creative communion. Its chatelaine is Lena Evstafieva, and Villa Lena is her brainchild.

What exactly is Villa Lena, you may wonder? At the most basic level, it’s an agriturismo hotel and artist residency combined. While that might sound confusing, I can assure you, as a guest, it is a delight of curious surprises, satisfying to each of the five senses; it’s a place where the eye always wanders, floral and herbal aromas spontaneously abound, and children’s laughter and birdsong commingle in the air. The palate is aroused at every meal and the decorative surfaces just beg to be gently stroked. “It’s a very personal project, a labor of love. It’s a project to celebrate how beautiful the simple pleasures of life really are,” Evstafieva tells me as we sip her villa-grown biodynamic sangiovese on the terrace of the hotel’s restaurant. Around us, cascading clusters of azure and mauve wisteria wrap around old-growth trees and iron gates, and swallows swirl overhead. “The villa is not a luxury product, yet it is luxury in its approach to hospitality because it celebrates what is integral to our being,” says Evstafieva. She is tall with sculptural features, her manner stoic with an air of efficiency. As we chat and graze on salumi and a variety of fermented cabbages (plucked from the ever-yielding vegetable garden and pickled over the winter months), I learn more about the woman behind the hotel and art foundation — its queen and head worker bee.

Special evenings are given over to artist aperitivi, a more dolce vita version of an artist studio visit. Art is everywhere. A condition of the program is that every creator leaves a piece behind that was inspired by their stay. “We now have a significant collection of pieces that we hang throughout the hotel, communal areas, and rooms, as well as install in the landscape for all of our visitors to explore,” says Evstafieva. As patron, curator, and art installer in chief, she is rightly proud of the body of work she has amassed.

Nature’s bounty features prominently in the villa’s operations, most notably at the restaurant and its accompanying vegetable garden. Over three acres are reserved for year-round cultivation of organic legumes, vegetables, and fruit. Gigi, the head gardener, has full autonomy over the plantings, as he is well acquainted with the many moods of this particular soil; he’s always lived just down the hill. He works in tandem with head chef Marco, who, according to Evstafieva “just wants to cook seasonal food, what’s given by the garden. And the menu is dictated by that.” Dishes are unpretentious, fresh, and simple, with a sophisticated twist, like the braised Roman artichokes generously sprinkled with a savory tang of bottarga. I accompany Evstafieva to check on the just-reaped harvest of fava beans, which have spontaneously been added to the evening’s contorni options. The weather has been generous, which allowed them to sprout weeks earlier than expected. Everyone here is ready to pivot and adjust to nature’s rhythm. “The way my team works now is by adapting and being flexible,” she says. “What’s important is they observe and listen, and adjust to the circumstance. We adapt in response to what occurs.”

One morning I meander along the many paths crisscrossing the villa’s grounds. I pass through the olive groves where thousands of trees of sundry age and size are slowly pushing out fruit, their small oblong leaves shimmering among the sloping mounds. I find myself dead-ended on the lone street among the remnants of the abandoned medieval village of Toiano, which shares its slope with the hotel’s perimeter. Not much of this ghost town remains beyond a dozen crumbling houses, a cemetery, and the ramparts surrounding the foundations of a tower fallen long ago. This land has seen some things. A loud snort comes from behind me. I turn and freeze. A wiry-haired mama boar and her two cubs carry on their stroll right past where I am standing. I adapt, cutting short the day’s exploration to head back for more sparkling white.

Opportunities for self-care and wellness are integrated into the villa’s offerings. There are daily yoga classes with a roster of visiting teachers of different modalities. On my daily excursions around the property, varied secluded spots uncovered themselves for my meditation practice. I sat in the light-and-rain pavilion, a Zen-inspired open-air cabana in the farm building, and upon the stump of an ancient cypress that was holding space among the brambles of the hidden garden directly behind the villa. When I ask Evstafieva about what she does to release from the villa’s incessant demands, she enthusiastically tells me, “I aggressively whack balls. In tennis or in polo. That is my mindfulness practice. It keeps me present, fully concentrated on the ball.” We laugh, and I note how human it is to find pause and respite in such stark contrast to what one works to create.

I ask what sensations she hopes visitors might experience, what she wants the villa to imprint on the memories of those who find their way here. “We want our visitors to be happy, to have them step out of their routines and engage with nature and creative expression during their stay with us. We want to take care of them. This is it. It’s actually that simple.”