Inspiration is where you find it.

Providence Artist Nick Paciorek has just introduced a new series of artwork - "The Dolomites"- inspired on a trip to Italy. Usually a cityscape painter, these landscapes represent a departure from all that is familiar to Nick, a testament to the beauty of landscapes and their impact on him. Nick shared his story behind the beauty with us

Traveling to the northern part of Italy to ski in Cortina de Ampesto was exactly what I needed to clear out the cobwebs - a pure vacation, no painting. My friends and I endured planes, trains and buses to get to the region called the Dolomites - the mountains that Da Vinci used in the Mona Lisa.


On the ride from Venice to Cortina I fell asleep, waking up in the mountains. I was in another world surrounded by peaks. The high views and vistas were breathtaking. I was looking forward to some serious skiing.

The first day I woke at 5:00 am to explore the town. The mountains dotted with small villages seemed to rise out of the earth and glow. As I walked through the streets I found it had the small ski-town ambiance without heavy tourist development that so many people desire. This town will never turn into a commercial exploit as Vail has - its destiny and only 138 families control the land. But I did find an art supply store that morning - of course, it was not open so early.

On to skiing: what I'd been looking forward to for months. As I boarded the first tram, I saw how beautiful the town of Cortina is from the mountains. The valley is longer and the light more intense than any other I've ever seen. I felt as though I had just been granted the gift of sight and was seeing for the first time.

As we went up each ski lift that day, I could see and feel the views and the light and the visual language of the Italian landscape. As we stopped for lunch, I found many people just sitting and enjoying the mountains and the light. It appeared to me these people existed in their own landscape gallery, viewing and experiencing their private painting. What a treat it must be to live there.

The next day we were skiing with guides in an area called the Sedordo Region where it is very easy to get lost. It is an enormous area - there is one mountain in the middle, surrounded by smaller slopes and we skied from trams and lifts in a clockwise or a counter-clockwise pattern around the central mountain. After we broke into groups, I realized that I was to be in for a day of fast, pure skiing.

I fell into conversation with our guide, Peter, and we traded stories. I told him I was an artist from Providence, Rhode Island and I gave him a card with one of my paintings from the Head of the Charles. We talked about art and how I see landscapes and light and about how space is created. He got very excited and promised to introduce me to a guide, Paolo, he climbs and skis with. I didn't know why he thought I should meet another guide, but I knew it would prove interesting.

At lunch I met Paolo and we talked about landscape, color and light. Paolo was not a visual artist, but was a passionate person that understood the beauty of landscape. He talked about climbing as though it was ballet. I talked to him about landscapes of Poussan, Mattise, and Baltis. He understood visually what I was talking about and told me about a mountain the Italians call Tofana. Its limestone peaks were famous for their vivid coloring at sunrise and sunset. I asked if I could see it at sunrise. He said yes - if I could be ready to hike up the mountain at 3:30 a.m. Of course, I agreed. Beauty does not wait for late sleepers. I remembered the art supply store in town - what a great time to catch all the light and color! Now that I had stumbled on this opportunity, I wasn't going to pass it by.

That evening, Paolo had me rent touring skis and some boots for the next day. With a small sinking sensation, I realized that we were not going to drive a car or take a lift, but were going to hike up on touring skis!

I caught up with my friend David, and told him of my plans. Of course when you tell a friend that you're getting up at 3:30 in the morning to hike up a mountain you've never skied before in the dark, the inevitable response is: "you're crazy!" He warned that I better come back in one piece because he had promised my wife he would keep an eye on me. As I tried to explain to David, being an artist is an adventure into seeing and exploring. "Staying in one piece" does not enter the equation.

Because I was so excited sleep was difficult, but I met Paolo at 3:30, we gathered our supplies and strapped on our gear. Paolo placed a light on his head and said, "follow me!"

As I stopped to look up, I could see what Van Gogh saw when he painted Starry Starry Nights. I realized I was going on a visual tour. I also realized we had a two-hour climb to where we were going. As we zigzagged up the steep slope knee-deep in snow, my heart began pounding from the physical exertion but also in anticipation of the sights at the summit. After an hour and half, I was physically exhausted but we needed to keep going.

At last we reached the peak as the sun was just coming over the tops of the mountains. A tear came to my eye and I don't know if it was the happiness of making it to the top or the beauty right in front of me. There is nothing to compare. I could literally feel the color, the depth of space, the height. Paolo had given me a gift. It would have been ungrateful of me not to record it.

I whipped out my sketchbook and started drawing the sight as quickly as I could before the light changed. I was afraid to look down at my paper for fear I should miss a moment. It was inspiration in its purest form.

As a landscape lover, Paolo recognized the fever that had taken hold and allowed me to work on sketches quietly. I drew and took visual notes about color so I could paint back in my studio in Providence.

After a few hours of drawing and climbing, we needed to warm up. Paolo led us to a chalet of people he knew where we could have a cappuccino. After warming up, I went out again to draw and observe the landscape for a few more hours.

I was exhausted after climbing, the outpour of emotion in my drawing, and skiing all day. But I had promised to meet friends at a restaurant that night. As I recapped my day for them, I explained an artist never stops exploring - even when he or she has no intention of creating. After all I had gone through to reach Tofana, I had discovered earth at her finest. Who am I to pass that by?