I created this from a place of longing rather than observation.

This scene is not a specific village I remember, but a feeling I carry from the 1990s—those winter mornings when the world felt quieter and kinder. The fog in the painting is intentional; it represents how memory softens everything. Edges blur, colors fade gently, and what remains is not detail but emotion. I wanted the light to feel fragile, as if the morning could disappear if you spoke too loudly.

The path running through the village is the heart of the artwork. It symbolizes time—worn, familiar, and endlessly walked. I painted it slightly uneven because life back then was imperfect, yet deeply grounding. The two figures walking away are not meant to be identified. They are memories in motion—people who once walked beside me and slowly moved into the past. Their distance carries both comfort and quiet loss.

The houses stand low and humble, holding warmth within them. They represent belonging, a kind of home that doesn’t need explanation. The large tree watches over everything, rooted and patient, like something that remains when everything else changes. It is stability, memory, and witness.

Emotionally, this artwork is about stillness and gratitude. There is no drama here, only presence. It reflects a time when mornings began without urgency, when silence was not empty but full. Through this painting, I wanted to pause life for a moment—to step back into a winter morning where nothing was demanded, and everything felt held.