The new year has begun, and the past holiday season was colder and more wintry than we’ve been used to in the Netherlands in recent years. During the holidays we stayed in Deurne, in the south of the country, close to nature. We wanted to rest after a busy period and recover from Willem’s unexpected hospital stay just before Christmas. And as often happens, we also caught a winter cold once things finally began to slow down and Willem started feeling better again.

As soon as it was possible, we went for walks in the area. The winter weather made it truly beautiful. Soft winter light, ice flowers, frozen pools and even snow appeared along the way. During these walks, I noticed how often a robin crossed our path. Not somewhere along the way, but always right at the beginning of a walk.

On Christmas Day, a robin was sitting near the parking area where our walk began, as if it was waiting for us there. A few days later, on another walk, the robin appeared again at the entrance — this time at a nature gate. It had even perched on a large iron key attached to the gate. That image stayed with me: a small robin on a key, at the entrance to a nature reserve.

And yesterday, during a snowy winter walk in Deurne, it was there again. Once more at the entrance of a small park. Three times, around the holidays and the start of the new year, always at a place where you literally step across a threshold.

Robins are often seen as symbols of hope, transition and attentiveness. Whether you choose to attach meaning to that or not, for me it felt like a sign. As I experience it, life offers us small and large messages, wrapped in coincidence and symbolism, which you only notice when you pay attention. When something like that happens and resonates, I tend to look for the message life is offering — in this case through the robins I encountered in nature.

The robin has played a role in my work for many years. I paint several new robins almost every year, and a robin often appears on my winter and Christmas cards. They are funny, endearing birds, and sometimes not shy at all. At important moments in my life, a robin often shows up: sometimes singing nearby, once as an unexpected guest inside the house, and once even tapping on the window with its beak.

When a robin stands out to me so clearly — which certainly isn’t every time I see one — I usually understand why it appears. These encounters, always at the beginning of our walks, felt like a gentle way to close the old year and begin the new one, with the hope that everything will turn out well.

Quite fittingly, this year I also created a new set of three robin prints. With all the new photos and videos from these winter days, I can’t wait to start painting more robins again.