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When I'm working on my sculptures, the pīwakawaka come, drawn by the sound of me tapping away at the stone. But during a three-day mindfulness retreat on Banks Peninsula, the way they hung around me shifted into something deeper.

This painting could only exist on one kind of day — when the wind had completely vanished, and the lake became a perfect mirror. When the air finally settled, something else became visible too.

On the day I drove out to paint this, the scene wasn't giving me much. But there was a gap in the clouds — just a thin one. I know enough about light to know that if the sun drops at the right angle, it can do something extraordinary. So I stayed. For forty minutes. And then the dam broke.

Snow on the ground, a storm cloud rolling in, and that feeling that anything could change at any moment. The story behind this Mackenzie Country landscape.