Almost 20 years ago I went on my one overseas trip to the French Alps and visited the most amazing Monastere de la Grande Chartreuse. I tasted some pretty potent green colored Chartreuse liqueur, made there by the monks, a very secret recipe that I don't ever care to have because it will never be my choice of drink.
The curvy road and long drive up to the Monastere, the quietness of mountains and property, was almost overwhelming with it's peace and space.
I hiked around, took a museum tour, inspected the silent monks from afar, I watched them closely, hoping to catch a rebel speaking to another, perhaps. (but that did not happen, they took their vows of silence very seriously)
I picnicked on a stone wall the way the French do, with a loaf of bread, and assortment of stinky cheeses and salami, apricots. and warm soda water.
Nearby, I looked up and took a snapshot of this statue above a doorway. This was a profound moment for me, for some reason, not one I can explain. The vision of the statue stayed in my head for the next few weeks until I returned home and developed the film in my camera.
The next day I painted it.