Holding the Path to Peace

“Holding the Path to Peace” (12″ x 24″) $1,111

There are moments when a painting arrives already carrying a sense of direction.

When I shared a photo of Peace & Harmony before it had a name, I invited friends on Facebook and Instagram to suggest one.

What returned wasn’t just a list of titles—it was an unfolding field of shared vision.

Words became doorways.

Each suggestion felt like a blessing, and several inspired new images so alive that I was moved to buy additional 12″ x 24″ canvases to continue this Peace Collection.

Just before I began painting Holding the Path to Peace, I met with a member of my father’s church community to discuss labyrinths. It deepened my reflection on the paths we walk—both literal and spiritual.

While I was painting, my heart was also quietly stirred by a remarkable Walk for Peace unfolding in the United States.

A small group of Buddhist monks are walking, step by mindful step, from Texas to Washington, D.C., accompanied by a rescue dog named Aloka. Their pilgrimage spans many months and thousands of miles, culminating this week in Washington. They have now been officially nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize, a recognition of the devotion and hope their walk carries.

This walk is a living meditation in motion. The monks move slowly, offering presence, prayer, and compassion in the communities they pass through.

Their devotion—peace carried through the body, one footfall at a time—felt deeply resonant with this painting and with the labyrinth held at its centre.

Both the labyrinth conversation and the Walk for Peace reminded me that every path we walk—whether with brush, foot, or heart—is a practice of presence and peace.

You can learn more about the monks’ journey, follow their progress, and see how to support their walk here: https://www.facebook.com/walkforpeaceusa/

The figure who emerged in this painting carries a Celtic tone—earth‑rooted, ancient, gentle.

She may be seen as Mary, Brigid, a goddess, the Divine Mother, or simply as a feminine presence of peace. I leave that naming open.

She looks downward, not in sorrow, but in devotion, holding a Chartres‑style labyrinth with care.

Within her asymmetrical halo are eleven small circles, each containing a three‑circuit labyrinth—one of the simplest and most ancient forms.

The asymmetry suggests movement and flow, a reminder that spiritual journeys are dynamic and ever-unfolding.

Together they feel like whispers of many paths held within a greater whole. What we walk individually is never separate from what we hold collectively.

For those new to them, a labyrinth is not a maze. There are no wrong turns. One path leads you in, and the same path leads you out. You walk it slowly, attentively, allowing the movement itself to become prayer or meditation.

I have painted labyrinths and walked them for many years. They have accompanied me through seasons of questioning, grief, clarity, community-building, and renewal.

A labyrinth does not demand answers. It offers presence. Step by step, the body remembers what the mind often forgets: peace is not something we reach—it is something we practice.

In this painting, the large Chartres labyrinth can be loosely seen as a womb or a pregnant belly. That was not planned, but it feels true. Peace is something we carry, tend, and bring to term. It gestates quietly before it is born into the world.

I am sometimes asked what it means when I say I paint with my team of Divine Helpers.

Sometimes guidance comes through clear inner images. Sometimes it arrives layer by layer, as a subtle nudge to try something unexpected. And sometimes it comes as a gentle discomfort—a sense that something is not yet complete.

When I looked at a photo I posted of what I thought was the finished painting, I could see that the halo closest to her head did not have enough contrast with the iridescent green surrounding it. Something was merging that wanted distinction.

I inwardly asked a simple question: Is it in the painting’s highest interest to glaze this area? The answer was a clear yes.

I then turned to my pendulum to help with the choice of colour. I was wavering between three possibilities. One by one, I asked. When Quinacridone Violet came forward, the response was unmistakable. Once applied, everything settled. The painting exhaled.

This way of working is not reserved for art. It is available to all of us.

When we invite conversation with what we experience as a higher or wiser realm—through intuition, prayer, pendulum work, or quiet listening—life often becomes gentler. Decisions soften. We move with support rather than strain.

Peace, for me, is not passive. It is something we hold. It is something we walk. It is something we choose again and again, even when and maybe especially when the world feels uncertain.

This painting feels like a reminder that the path to peace is already in our hands.

If you feel called to live with this painting, you can see more photos and purchase Holding the Path to Peace here.

You can also view and purchase the first painting in the Peace Collection, Peace & Harmony, here.

Thank you for walking this path with me.

Peace be with you,

Dominique