New Beginnings
There are seasons when everything feels heavy. When the valley is cloaked in shadow and the path ahead dissolves into stillness. But even then – or perhaps especially then – something begins to shift.
Not all endings are final. Sometimes, they are just a mirror — reflecting what is to come.
The summit in the distance, the stillness of the water, the quiet invitation to rise again. To trust the climb. To follow the glimmer. To begin. Anew.
The story behind the painting
It started with a party. A birthday celebration in Innsbruck that turned into a sleepless night that turned into five days of laughter, deep talks, dumb jokes, mountain sunsets, and the kind of memories that make your heart grin.
I had followed a nudge. An inner yes. Nothing planned, nothing certain. Just a feeling. And somehow, it led me exactly where I needed to be.
I met a group of beautiful, creative souls who ended up leaving a big mark on my heart. We laughed endlessly. Shared stories and music. Packed the cameras, drove into the mountains, and shot a spontaneous music video. No huge plan. Just presence.
The location? I found it by following another hunch.
There might be more if I keep driving down this valley, I thought.
And then the landscape opened.
Snow still clung to the distant peaks, their white ridges glowing quietly beneath the clouds.
The forested slopes fell into deep shadow, cradling a lake so still it felt like the world had paused to listen.
It smelled of pine and melting snow.
You could hear your breath.
A man I had never met before gave us permission to film on his land.
It felt like a blessing.
Like the land knew we were meant to be there.
What I didn’t say yet: These days came after a time that hadn’t been easy. The months before had been heavy – full of inner work, grief, and quiet unravelings. But something had started to shift since my time in Scotland. A softness had returned. A trust. And these spontaneous days in the mountains reminded me of something:
That new beginnings often don’t look like grand entrances. Sometimes they arrive quietly – wrapped in laughter, music, and the unexpected lightness of strangers who feel like old friends. Sometimes they find us when we’ve just walked through the dark.
And suddenly, the valley opens. The view clears. And there it is – like a gateway to the sky. An invitation. To begin again.
Back in the studio, I still felt the echo of those days. The music, the light, the colors, the magic. And so I painted. Not just a mountain. But a moment. A threshold. A quiet, glowing reminder: that new beginnings often arrive when we least expect them.
And that the heart always knows the way.
Some impressions are too vivid not to become paintings.
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference.”