Something has shifted inside me, I have crossed a threshold. Then I found myself in a transition deeper than any I had experienced before, because it no longer concerns only choices or forms, but the very language through which I live and inhabit the world. As if crossing this threshold had carried me beyond a point of no return. A decision to live in a mode of free creation, impossible to avoid.
There comes a moment in life when old reference points stop working, while new ones are not yet visible. That is exactly where I am. In that space where one moves forward without focusing on a final destination, where one follows joy without knowing precisely where it leads. The momentum is very much alive, but the future is no longer a fixed point to reach, it integrates into the present.
For a long time, I moved forward with a projected vision: a goal, a timeline, a clear direction. As an artist and in the management of arts, culture, and artistic direction, the professional world expected this of me. Moving forward meant planning, projecting, delivering. This mode allowed me to build, to sustain, to raise a family, to create, and to survive. It was neither wrong nor useless. It was necessary at a specific stage of my life.
What I am living now is not emptiness, but a transition: the passage from a conceived future to an emerging one. My mind still seeks proof, a plan, a guarantee, a confirmation that “this is leading somewhere.” My body, however, already knows. It knows when a gesture is right, when a day feels alive, when an action is sustainable.
This is where the discomfort arises: in the gap between what we have learned to call security and what we now feel as truth. Before, moving forward meant getting closer to a predictable goal. Today, moving forward means being in alignment, now.
The question is no longer: Is this leading somewhere?
But rather: Is this aligned, alive, and inhabitable today?
This phase I am going through is demanding, more demanding than following a clearly mapped-out plan. It asks for trust without guarantees, for movement without applause, for building an inner sense of security before it becomes external. It requires letting the mind run, consciously, without letting it take control. It is uncomfortable, but it is also within this in-between space that paths emerge which truly resemble the person one has become.
Even if I have left behind the logic of performance and overly structured plans, it does not mean moving through emptiness. I guide myself through clear intentions, set in advance, which orient my choices without rigidifying them.
Overall, I have created a starting structure: an intention written into a presentation document; a long-term point of reference that encompasses my creation and the way I live it in all its dimensions. To manifest, for me, implies having a clear focus, knowing, at least, what one desires. Then, this intention settles in the background, almost in retreat, like roots beneath the soil: present, nourishing. It then becomes necessary to release expectations around results and how they will unfold. Life is more intelligent than we are; it carries a broader vision.
The Modus Operandi of This Creative State
My modus operandi has been simple: to make that inner decision to follow my joy, in both small and large moments, as often as possible. At first, it is rarely spectacular. Just a gesture. A step. A simple action. That is how this new path began, almost silently.
Then, gradually, life followed. It removed what no longer fit, dismantled what was no longer aligned. A void appeared, and it required the courage to inhabit it without certainty, but with integrity. Then something unexpected emerged: the idea of a boutique, a new journey, encounters, photographs, unexpected support. This is how daniellelamontagne.studio and daniellelamontagne.art came into being, marking a return to travel, discovery, and a freer, fully embraced creativity.
I understand now that life conspires to move this path forward, not always with ease, but with authenticity, allowing old patterns to dismantle themselves. I am not sharing a recipe for success or an idealized vision. I am sharing a possible path. One of chosen slowing down, of creation anchored in the present, of attention directed toward what truly nourishes. At times, fear and hesitation reappear. I watch them pass. And I continue this life, both exciting and demanding, that I have chosen.
A Day Within This State of Being
I wake up honoring my morning routine: black coffee, exercises. Then, after a short meditation, I allow what feels most right for the day to emerge, according to my body and state of mind.
Sometimes photography guides me, other times, writing. At times, I go out exploring, or I simply feel the impulse to work in my shop. Over time, I have learned to trust this inner rhythm: everything eventually gets done. There is a subtle intelligence within human rhythm, a natural way of knowing when to act and when to rest.
When it starts to feel like forced work, I stop. I go to the sea, I rest, I meet friends. My projects inhabit me deeply, I would pursue them even if I were a millionaire. For me, there is no fixed structure, no 9-to-5. I might work at night instead of during the day, on weekends instead of weekdays. I follow the impulses that move me. I believe it is not the quantity of time invested that matters, but its rightness. Success is not always measured in hours. Some weeks are very active, others much quieter. And yet, in hindsight, the outcome is the same, without force.
The day ends when the impulse is no longer there, or when something more alive calls me elsewhere. The in-between is only uncomfortable for the mind.
In the present, it dissolves.
