Wintersports are all about feeling, touching, interacting. From when you put your boots on in the morning to the last chair of the day, all you do is be. Sensing the wind, biting and frigid, the snow, cool and crisp, and the atmosphere of the cold. Step out the door.
Click in. From that moment onwards the day unfolds. Snake your way to the chairlift and be swept off your feet by a soft pad because to some it's all about the down. The sound of skis edging through the snow, the perfection of their edges, gripping, slithering. At the bottom. And what is the true beauty of these sports? You just do it again, and keep doing it, all day.
To me, snow is just a feeling. You can sense when it's going to fall. It carries no gravity, it is still, silent, pure. The whole day is one large feeling that no man can quite put his finger on, but knows nonetheless. It fits somewhere between purity, intensity and vitality. Some may think this a broad range, but all three are closely associated. If they were pigments suspended in the form of paint, all three mixed together would form a color that is not so much understood, but if it is applied correctly it is felt.