After many conversations — and a few humorous negotiations (our Artemis Irenäus can be as stubborn as a rock, smile) — she finally agreed to reveal some of them: oil paintings where the mountains seem to breathe in the light.

Some were painted outdoors, on an easel in the heights above Arosa or deep in the alpine grasses of the Grisons, near the Engadine. Others are entirely recomposed: woven from sketches, fragments of recollection, or pure imagination.
So there is no need to search for the Weisshorn, the Tiejer Flue, or a hint of the Guggernellgrat. Artemis Irenäus blends, rearranges, invents, dreams. She gathers several summits into one, adds a slope from Praden, a ray of Passugg light, or the atmosphere of an afternoon remembered.