After we packed up at the end of the afternoon, it was time to unwind and to say hello to the water, which had been calling me all day long. The wind was chilly on the boardwalk, but locals were enjoying their ice creams and favorite terraces regardless. 

These last weeks have been so frenetic and mind-consuming that I had not actually been close to nature in any way. Who knew a couple of hours in Sainte-Anne-de-Bellevue, with nothing on the agenda except walking, sitting, talking and snapping a few inevitable photos, could do such a world of good!

And when the sun started to tuck itself in for the night, I realized my cheeks were pink and warm and sunkissed for the first time this season, and that it had been a very good day.

Have your weekends been rejuvenating and sunshine-filled?

It was the year I had moved to northern Italy for my scientific work. I had left the urban bustle of Montreal behind, and my new surroundings could not differ more. The Dolomiti mountains formed a backdrop to every scene I played in - almost a painted theatrical set. They filled the sky with their seemingly edgeless presence and -- I noticed -- led me to walk taller, eyes on them and their changing light, rather than on my shoes. Throughout the seasons, the whites and greens of the mountains tumbled into the vineyards that flanked the Adige river, such that there was not a single bare spot in the scenery, and I was in constant awe of how small all the houses and all the people seemed in comparison. It is strange to think of how my work was the same, but I was different. My days in Trentino were tethered to this landscape - my senses, moods and feelings riding on the rhythm of everyday life in the small town. The resounding church-bells sliced each of my days into half-hours, the rush of the Adige river filled my ear, and the clear air somehow led to clearer thinking. For those months, getting to my home involved turning left at the vineyard - paying attention to the street sign was absolutely unnecessary. I enjoyed every single day of being that small dot amid rows and rows of vines, at the foot of towering mountains. But, one spring afternoon, the awe and gratitude I felt just stopped me in my tracks on my routine walk back home. I smiled and recorded the scene, so I wouldn't forget it, so I wouldn't forget my way.

Available in fine-art print, canvas, aluminum, acrylic and wood.
From my heart to yours.

Over the years, the more practice I have had with capturing what I see and how I feel, the more attuned I have become to how looking through the lens changes what and how I see. It sometimes amuses me to think of how my perception changes - how new things suddenly begin to catch my eye and even become a stylistic habit, or how my experimentation with composition leads to fresh techniques. 

I don't know about you, but I am an incredibly s.l.o.w photographer when I am left to my own devices. I take a dozen variations of the same shot and only move on when I feel satisfied enough with the result. Sometimes, you get that feeling like you have caught a firefly in the palm of your hand or discovered a small fortune. Those are the photographs you think of when you are sitting on a train or in a café and reflecting on the day's "catch" - those are the photographs you can't wait to download to your computer and perfect. And yet, sometimes, other images totally surprise you. You cycle through the multitude of variations and painstakingly choose the most technically solid and aesthetically appealing one out of the minimally differing alternatives (this one or this one? or this one?), and sometimes this exercise gives rise to new favorites.

But what about those photographs that don't quite catch your attention during the first or even second pass? Does it ever happen to you that you go through images you've moved past -- months or even years later -- and discover new favorites? 

It happens to me, so reliably in fact that I have made a little tradition out of it by now to occasionally sift through old backups on a mission to pull out "rediscoveries". It is a direct testament to how our perception changes, and how returning to a place (even if virtually) leads you to love something that barely caught your attention at a previous time.

Every so often, this "lookback" results in new additions to the Veni Etiam collection, though the photographs themselves may have been taken several years ago.

I thought I would occasionally share these with you through this blog series, not only for you to find out what is new in shop, but also in case you are curious about the kinds of places, moods or compositions I have rediscovered lately.

Here are this season's rediscoveries. If you click on each one, you'll be taken to my Etsy shop where I have just freshly added these fine-art prints to the collection.

Tell me about your process: How do you choose your favorites? Do you go back to reminisce, re-edit and rediscover? I would love to hear from you.

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