We’ll Cross that Bridge When We Get to It

California coastal plein air artwork of Rocky Creek Bridge on the Big Sur coast of Montery county

Under the authority of a king in Europe, there is land in California, owned and private today, that was divided up and given to friends of the throne. It’s wild to think of the history behind some of the barbed wire we see all over the coast here. I don’t blame anyone. I’d have accepted any land they offered me as well, and to be honest, it’s not hard to imagine what these pristine lands would look like if the gates were open to us all. Pack your trash and leave no trace is truly some sort of elitist psuedo hippy mumbo jumbo now. I’d rather be kept out of some places than to allow myself and everyone else to trample nature into a twisted banal backdrop for the drama of humanity’s less noble urges. Still though, when I see the signs telling me to stay out of places like this, I bristle at the royal throne, whose guilded vanity was built on the backs of those they defeated by force. I am at once the oppressor and the oppressed in this drama, no matter which side of the fence I happen to find myself. But under all these layers of understanding, it is clear we have lost something, though I am not sure what.

I slowly enjoyed a beer when I finished this one, under the watching eye of the drone that flew repeated laps out to see and back again, right up to the van, I thought it might fly in at one point. This was no film project, but pure anonymous surveillance as it hovered there safely out of reach, it’s owner sitting somewhere looking through this one way mirror into my world. I even looked for something reasonable to throw at it, if it tried that again. It never did, but the world keeps going forward and the throne is always thirsty for more. It wants all that it’s eyes can see, and now it has eyes everywhere. Enjoy your quiet moments while you can, a day of reckoning will come sooner or later.

I guess we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it.

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Dressed in White

Not a fun place to attempt to park this huge van… Drive around, drive around, drive around, repeat for an absurdly long duration, ok, finally, park! Then get out and walk around looking for one spot to paint, knowing the time is short and I’ll be long gone by dark, my one chance to paint this crescent of sand on this trip.

As I walk, I listen. Every language on earth spoken here. A true magnet for the world. It’s nice to hear. I’m not sure why some places draw the world’s travelers and others just up the road draw none. But that’s fine with me. The tongues of men can’t be spoken everywhere. We’ll leave that task to the tongues of angels.

The angels often speak more clearly, even amongst a sea of human voices. Today, the angelic choir is dressed in white. Beneath the arc of the cypress, the glare of white sky on white sand, the pounding of the ocean’s heartbeat up and down the beach. These voices need no translation.

Painting is just another way to sing along. Sometimes I can be a little tone deaf, but still I try. Bear with me.

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Stick a Fork in It

Plein air artwork from Spooner's cove in Montana De Oro State Park on the San Luis Obispo coast of Central California

I’ve been on the road for 2 weeks now. I’ve slept in my van in grocery store parking lots, picking ticks off my face that must have crawled out of my painting gear as I slept. I’ve wrestled the sun and cursed at the wind. My back is tired, my feet ache, my lips are chapped, and the distinct itch of poison oak is catching up with me from a week of exposure. I’m heading home tomorrow, but today I am here.

The sun had grown tired of my grumbling and refused to join me for this last effort. The waters will not be illuminated today. The air is full of mist. My mind is full of other places I’d like to be. Home, mostly. But today I am here.

One last round with mother nature. It’s not a victory song, it’s funeral march, as Leonard Cohen would say, it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.

I long to see this coast in another light, on another day, and perhaps I will in the not too distant future. But today I am here, and I cannot deny this moment. There is joy in the muted earth, joy in the slow passage of time, joy in the rumble of ocean below.

But I also cannot deny the joy of completion. Stick a fork in it. I’m done.

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A Matter of Convenience

Plein air painting of San Simeon Pier on the Central coast of California in San Luis Obispo county

Chumash land: just the way it always was…

Spanish imperialism: all of your earths is ours now

Mission San Miguel: we graze our cattle on all your lands now

Mexican land grant: all of your ground is Mr. Pico’s now

George Hearst: I found gold, I buy your dirt from Pico.

Willam Randalph Hearst: Thanks dad, I like big castles

California state parks: Thanks king Hearst, we like beaches.

That’s my nutshell of the entire human history of this piece of coast dating back as far as we can know. Well, that and the Portuguese whaling community that made use of this convenient bay and the deepwater beyond to manhandle 370 whales into lifeless economic commodities in just 10 years. Yikes.

All told, it’s a very sheltered beach on a rugged windswept and swell-pounded coastline. A convenient place to build a wharf for offloading materials to build, oh say… a castle, or something like that.

Now there’s still a wharf there today. And ghosts from other eras still linger beside the towering Eucalpytus. History has unfolded at a different pace here than most places on the coast, and it’s tangible.

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From the Overflow of the Heart, the Mouth Speaks

8th day on the road, 23rd painting completed, 2nd one on this day. Last one of the trip. I’m exhausted.

There’s something about a rivermouth sandbar that really holds one’s attention. I wanted to get the whole scene here: the inland valley leading to the now hot and dry heartland this river flows from, the coastal coolness of rugged rock and sea stack shrouded in fog and cloud, the beach, the driftwood, and the sand piled up creating a focal point for bending lines of swell approaching from deep water. I wanted to show it all.

Perhaps I took on too much. It happens. But then again, it’s all in there and if I’m gonna roll by and paint one painting here, I’m stoked this was it.

The big disappointment was the extended time it took to finish this complicated composition ate into the rapidly closing window to go surf a few down at that sandbar. I maybe could have swung it still, but by the time I finished up a thick fog had rolled in, and it was getting dark, and bobbing around a sharky rivermouth lineup alone and barely visible for marginal but fun looking two foot waves for some reason just didn’t sound as fun as it did when I’d started the painting.

So instead I paused there to enjoy a celebratory beer for a week of hard work, and thought I heard the river speak. “Another time” she said, “Another time.”

From the overflow
Of the heart
The mouth speaks

Sometimes
Only a
Whisper
Other times
A raging torrent
That
Gives life
And takes it away

Many moons ago
We heard her speak
“Another time”
She said

Just today
We heard her speak again
We hoped this would be
Our invitation to join the waters
Where her words meet the Great Unknown

The fog rolled in
The moon rose in the east
And once again
“Another time”
Was all that we heard

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Machine Work

Plein air artwork of the Borradori Garage in Cayucos on the San Luis Obispo coast of central California

A bit of old California here. Not too many places are left like this along the coast. An old industrial building (built long before the man/nature dichotomy narrative had reached its current crescendo and even man’s industry was a thing to be celebrated as a wonder of nature itself) placed right above a small fishing pier on a pristine stretch of coast. It’s a wonder that it has survived all these years and hasn’t been replaced by an upscale restaurant, or hotel, or craft brewery, or all three.

I couldn’t help but wonder of the history of its survival, if its current existence has been won in a series of hard fought battles from preservation minded locals against outside monetary interests, or if it has just been simply overlooked in its quiet corner of the coast.

Sidenote: I was approached by the police yet again while painting this one. I was in the back of the van, doors open to the view. They pulled up slowly, just enough to see in the back, and they sat and watched for quite a while. I thought they might be curious about the painting, but they never got out, never said a word, and slowly backed up and left. I guess I wasn’t the one they were looking for that day. I know that wasn’t much of a story for you either, but I always get a kick out of the little events that unfold when painting out and about in public. I’ve never had a police officer approach and watch me while painting in my home studio.

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Russian Interference

8th day on the road, 22nd painting completed, 1st on this day

The Russians are planning to claim this coast for themselves. It’s true. From San Francisco to Trinidad Harbor, they’ve left secret signs, “possession plaques” buried at various strategic locations.

This painting is located near the first of these plates, and within a year or two, they will be back to stake their claim, renaming this location as Mouis Rumyantsev(Point Rumyantsev) after the current Russian Minister of Commerce.

Alarmist political prophesy? Hardly. These are just the facts. I have proof.

Besides, it’s not like this stretch of coast has been claimed by Spain yet.

Did I mention it’s 1810?

All history aside, I love Russians. Although it was many moons ago, the only people who ever invited me into their limousine in the middle of the night in San Francisco to go make crepes back at their apartment were a couple of Russians.

Take that, America.

I should also let you know that I refused the offer, but in spite of how suspicious it may have seemed, it was also very much appreciated.

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Soaring with Rick Griffin

7th day on the road, 21st painting completed, 3rd one this day

Painting the California coast is something that rose out of my admiration for the California Impressionists of the early 1900’s.

Before that I was painting skulls and bones and waves, which rose out of my admiration for Rick Griffin (1944-1991) and his artwork. I learned of his art when he passed away and the Surfer Magazine ran a tribute to his life and art featuring his mindblowing works from the psychedelic era.

If I hadn’t started surfing after my big brother did 7 years earlier when I was 11 or so I wouldn’t have been reading Surfer at age 16 and likely not encountered Rick’s art in the same life-altering way.

In a similar vein, if my brother and I hadn’t been so keen to explore and surf the California coast from junior high onward, I wouldn’t have appreciated the California Impressionist’s work nearly as much when I encountered later, as it was my connection to the coast that was triggered by those paintings and made me want to explore that direction in my art as well.

So here I am today painting up and down the California coast, exploring, still hunting for waves I haven’t seen yet. Whispers here and there, accidental discoveries, pure curiousity, whatever leads around the next bend, it’s all fair game. I’d heard of this wave for years, but only recently learned it was one of Rick’s favorite waves to surf when he lived in the Bay area.

Standing over the cove, watching the windblown lines clean up around the rocky headland, it was a full circle moment thinking of the maker of so much influential art hooting and hollering on the waves below.

A hawk soared past as I painted, circling the cove repeatedly, at times hovering just to my right or left on the updraft before diving and riding the wind tunnels down and around the cliff faces below. I don’t normally add flying birds into paintings as they are so ephemeral to the landscape. This one seemed appropriate though so I snuck it in there.

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Avoiding the Evil Leaf

Some days are easy, other days you have to dig deep. Those are the days you find out what you are made of. I’m just a painter, but compared to working in the studio, plein air painting can seem like a battle with the universe itself.

Confession. I am naturally lazy. A water person. I don’t push through, I flow around, always looking for the path of least resistance. So bear with me as I recount what went into painting this one…

First, I’d slept the night in a grocery store parking lot so I could put myself in quick striking distance in the morning to sneak this 2 hour driving detour in the middle of a much longer trip just for this painting.

I arrive to find the 1 mile trail to the beach from the carpark has been washed out, but fortunately there is another trail still open, slightly longer, but no matter its a nice morning, not too hot, and I’ve got the time.

But remember I am lazy, and I’d be lying if I said I enjoyed hauling my whole studio on my back for what ended up being a 4 mile round trip of tromping around looking for this view. The tromp included a long stretch of dry sand, a dead end up a poison oak infested goat trail (apparently goats get skinnier as they climb, and eventually become ghosts, according to their trails anyway), a few hops over barriers set up by the park to keep folks like me out of their closed trails, and one tepid tip toe around the loose eroded cliff face that was the reason this trail was closed.

The view you see in this painting finally called to me and required setting up the easel in a patch of dry grass and poison oak. I watched the oak closely and it was quite a chess match of slow deliberate movements to get everything in place without contacting the evil leaf.

The painting itself was a joy and a half after all that. Nevermind the ticks that I continued to find crawling out of my hair the next two nights. For real.

That’s what I love about this art form though. There is no other way to make these paintings than to literally put yourself in them and deal with nature’s realities.

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A Reluctant Admission

7th day on the road, 19th painting completed, 1st one this day

After collecting an official “Vehicle Immobilization and Potential Arrest Notice” on this private development the day before, I was careful on this day to stay in the designated public access area. These pay-to-play private coast mentalities have always struck me as odd. I’ve even read interviews with the developers where they talk dismissively of the area locals who felt they had the right to cross the land to get to the beach to dive for abalone, as they had done for literally generations before this development came along. But that is another story.

Speaking of another story, as I was heading back to my van to get my gear after scouting my location for this crisp morning painting, I saw a whole herd of fire trucks rolling across the meadow and watched with amusement as firemen, piled out of their trucks and headed to the stairs with their frisbees in one hand and walkie talkies in the other. Must be nice to have “emergency vehicular access” privileges. I figured without my painting pack full of loose straps dangling rusty buckets on my back yet, I didn’t yet look like a misplaced hobo, so I made sure to enquire if they had a permit for this “operation” in my most serious voice possible. Sheepishly they all deflected to one another and scattered down to their frisbee games, eager to get on with their fun.

Busted.

If I’d been a little better dressed and grayer in the hair they may have been a bit more nervous about brushing me off so easily, but it really was a beautiful morning, and I’d have done the same in their shoes… er, boots… er, sandals… whatever.

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Tea and Oranges

6th day on the road, 18th painting completed, 3rd on this day

I had this place pinpointed on my map for months. Not for it’s beauty, though it doesn’t lack in that area, but because it’s a place that means a lot to a friend that commissioned me to paint it on my next trip through. This is located in a long stretch of heavily regulated private development. Not knowing where the nearest public access was for this beach, or if it even had one, I figured I’d just pull up to the private road that led down to it and accept the risk involved.

I scoped the place on foot after leaving my van in the clearly not-for-public car park. When I returned to get my gear a few minutes later my plan was to leave an apologetic note on my windshield explaining what I was up to and hope for mercy. Instead I found a security guard already writing up an official “VEHICLE IMMOBILIZATION AND POTENTIAL ARREST NOTICE” to go where my note would have been placed. These guys worked fast. I proceeded to explain myself and he explained this was the first notice after which (if I was found again on the property) I would face fines and further consequences.

Realizing this was just a warning then, I read between the lines that this was my free pass to go paint and enjoy this private slice of earth for the afternoon and rub shoulders with this distinctly upper class of exclusive beachgoers, although none of them brought me any Tea and Oranges that Came All the Way from China… that title being a reference to a line from a Leonard Cohen song of a different name that played as I pulled onto this private lane, and also perhaps a sneaky double reference to the security guard who may or may not have gone by the name of Leonard.

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Get Off My Lawn

6th day on the road, 17th painting completed, 2nd one this day

A big inspiration in my art life came from an unlikely source. It makes perfect sense in hindsight, but at the time when my older brother got a copy of Bank Wright’s classic book “Surfing California” when I was maybe 11 years old, I had no idea the years of exploration that would follow, and that would lead naturally into what I do today, travelling and painting this state’s coastline from border to border.

One spot in that book eluded me for years until this trip. I’m embarrassed to say it’s the only one that I recall being listed by it’s actual address on Highway 1. Why I never thought to look for the address sooner (maybe, you know on a map or something?), I have no idea. But here I was on this trip armed with a fully functioning map. Nothing could stop me now. Except I couldn’t remember the address. I must have stopped and hopped around the bushes at 3 or 4 different properties before almost accidentally arriving here. In fact I nearly drove by it, except for seeing the wave from the road. What? It’s even visible from the road? Good grief. I’m not nearly as observant as I sometimes pretend to be.

Sure there were NO TRESPASSING signs every 10 feet on that fence, but then why did that one spot have a clear trail leading away from that broken section of fence and along the bluff and down to the water, hmm? Methinks I’m supposed to go over there.

Only problem was my nerves while painting in full sight of the house and highway 1 out in the open on clearly marked private property without ever having spoken to anyone with any knowledge of the deal here. Of course I could have gone down the bluff a bit to be out of sight, but I liked this angle the best. I’ve never looked over my shoulder so many times in one painting. Kept expecting old man McCrakken to come out of his house yelling, “Get Off My Lawn!” Thankfully, he must have been napping and the whole scene remained quiet as a church on a Tuesday morning from start to finish.

We hopped your fence
And stood on your land
In clear view
Of your house
(And the highway)
Thank you
For not releasing the dogs

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Open Lanes

6th day on the road, 16th painting completed, 1st on this day

I was hoping to paint the view north from this location, but when I got here I wasn’t feeling it. The linear elements of this reef meeting the microscopic 8inch lines of windswell wrapping around it got my interest though, especially with the backlit morning light peeking around the hillside I was on.

I did have to walk around a locked gate through an opening to a private lane where I noticed a large NO TRESPASSING sign spray painted completely black. I think that means visitors are welcome then, no?

At any rate, the few folks that came and went through that locked gate either didn’t notice me lurking with my easel in the ferns, or they just didn’t care, as nobody said a word.

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Fault Lines

5th day on the road, 15th painting completed, 2nd one this day

I’ve scouted around this cove a few times over the years, looking for an angle to paint this place, but never bothered to find a way out onto the cliffs that overlook it. Glad I finally did, I could spend weeks painting out here. What really stands out up here is the geological forces that have shaped this cove. I believe the San Andreas fault line runs right through it, and I was drawn to the linear elements of the scene before me.

Its a bit of a trek from the road to get out here when packing an art studio on your back, often hunting views on game trails through tall grass that had me tucking my pant legs into my socks and checking for ticks religiously. I was relieved to never see a single one, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking of those little bloodsuckers nearly the whole time.

When I was nearly finished with this one, some ladies came walking by on the nearby trail. They stopped to chat and quickly made note of the waves I may have added on this flat summer day. Then they wanted to know where I was from, and who I was with, and let me know they noticed my van back at the carpark. I felt that I had to assure them I was alone, not part of a group and not connected to any other artists that have passed through these parts after the general grilling I received.

Maybe I read them wrong, but they sure seemed to be putting out some territorial vibes in that short conversation. But I understand, they live in a very small town, in a very beautiful place, in a state whose coast is being bought and sold at an alarming rate. Protectionism isn’t all their fault. It’s also their virtue.

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Ticks Are Evil

7th day on the road, 20th painting completed, 2nd one this day

This is another place I’ve wanted to paint for a long time, but it’s quite a walk from the road and just hadn’t had the time on previous trips. I knew the angle I was looking for, but it would require a fair bit of off-trail work to get there. Fortunately it was pretty much open grassland I’d have to cross, though the signs warning about ticks were a bit unnerving considering I the amount of shoulder high grass I was about to wade through. These paintings don’t happen without some effort though, so a quick tuck of all the loose clothing, a moment of prayer, a few deep breaths, and I was off.waawa

I made it through the grass and roughly to the vantage point I was aiming for, but off by 100 yards or so to the south.The wind was howling as it does in these parts in the summer (and, well… always) and unfortunately the vantage I was looking for faced the wind directly and the cliff face below even magnified it. I could head back through the grass or traverse the sandy cliff face over to the spot I was aiming for. Ticks being evil, I went with the cliff face. With the gusts of wind and all my gear flapping about it was dicey at best. And straight down 100 feet or so to rocks below at worst.

Did I mention these paintings don’t happen without some effort? Well, they don’t.

I was happy to get back to the van after this one. Nothing blew off the cliff (including this body I live in). I didn’t even see a single tick after an entire afternoon of constant checking. Go figure, but I still say those little buggers are evil… maybe not quite full blown evil, but somewhere on the spectrum I reckon.

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In a Different Light

5th day on the road, 14th painting completed, 1st one this day

Occasionally when I mention to folks that I travel up and down painting the California coast, they will suggest that I do paintings of all the lighthouses. I usually think that’s because someone once gave them a calendar with a different lighthouse on each month. Or because they think lighthouse paintings will sell easily (as opposed to the rest of my art? Gee, thanks. By the way, almost all of it sells these days- thanks you guys! Oh and by the other way, making art based on what sells when it’s not where your heart really is, well that’s basically just straight up worshipping money. Get behind me, Satan, I’m not going there. I’ve seen too many artists lose their joy, passion, drive, and ultimately their art as well and end up running aground when they chart their course in sole pursuit of Mammon… Ok, sermon over…)

The truth is I have nothing against lighthouses, in fact, I’ll happily paint them when my road leads to them and I truly appreciate a bit of the symbolism that I think people like to put on them- guiding lights, light in the darkness, etc… but personally I’m more a fan of the rocky gnarl that usually surrounds them. Maybe I just see some things in a bit of a different light, but I know I’m not the only one.

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We All Stand Alone

4th day on the road, 12th painting completed, 3rd one this day

I came around a bend on the winding highway 1 a bit south of here today and a large RV was heading toward me in the oncoming lane. It wasn’t swerving or dangerous, we were both moving slowly and within our respective lanes. What stood out was the clear view I had of the driver of the vehicle. She looked just like my sister who we lost to cancer several years ago.

It was a head on collision.

I’m not one to grieve outwardly too much so these things take time to slowly boil out over the years. I cried around the next few bends remembering her, all while laughing about the prospect of her driving around the country in a big RV. (If you knew her, you know of the humor present in that thought).

This painting was later in the day, I first surfed here on a road trip with my dad a long long time ago. It could have been that family connection, or the old church standing tall across the river in the distance that had me recalling her again as I painted this one.

The solitary beachgoer that waded out to the sandbar island that had formed in the rivermouth was a reminder for me, that at least on this side of life, we all stand alone on the face of the earth.

One day maybe we’ll all stand together again, but I’d like to get a few more waves first.

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A Change is Brewing

Often the main challenge in painting a location is finding an angle that condenses the story of being there into one frame. I’d surfed here years before with a friend, rappelling
down the steep cliff on a wet, gray day. I’ve been fond of the place ever since. That personal connection can make a painting even more difficult since I’m also trying to pack all those memories onto the canvas as well.

After scouring around, I settled on this view. I knew it was a little dicey parking on this narrow road, but I needed the elevation provided by the van to see down the bluff to the beach below. If I’d pulled up just another 50 feet or so, I’d have been in a wider section designated for tourists to park and take photos of the view (or themselves). But this particular spot was just right. This could get awkward.

It was a quiet week day and any ordinary car could still easily drive around my van so I figured I’d be fine.

At one point a truck rolled up with a trailer full of gravel, and after a minute he got out and approached my van. I’d already started putting loose items away and stabilizing anything that looked precarious for the impending move, so I was ready for him and offered to move before he asked. He was real nice about it and said it was his last trip
for the day. I pulled forward, let him pass, then backed up again to complete the painting.

Another lady wasn’t so nice about it, but her little car had no problem getting around. No harm, no foul.

-Entry on July 11, 2017

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Heard from Across the Valley

4th day on the road, tenth painting completed, first one this day

Some paintings I’ve seen for a long time before I painted them. When painting plein air it can take awhile since you’re not pulling images out of your imagination, if there’s a painting rumbling around in there, you have to wait until you put yourself in the right place at the time of day that painting is asking for.

This was one of those. I’d seen this rambling creek, this cove, this shaded valley in the morning light for awhile in my mind. I had a few different locations I was hunting for it on this foggy morning. The first two were beautiful, but the angles were wrong and the morning fog was a bit too thick to work with. Pressing on to this last option I thought had potential, the clouds breaking and lifting just as I arrived, I was a bit giddy at the site before me. It looked even more like the painting than the one I was seeing in my mind.

The freshly mowed poison oak/berry brambles lining the road here provided adequate space to pull over and work from inside the van, which was great since I didn’t want to set foot on all that chopped poison oak anyway.

Nothing about this painting ever really felt like work, it was just a pure joy reacting to the scene before me and listening to the steady crack of breaking waves on the sandbar that built up around this rock stack. I could hear them clearly from all the way across this valley.

But I saw this painting coming from much further than that.

The morning fog lingers
Until we finish our last cup of coffee together
Her timing impeccable
Her exit silent and unnoticed
Some folks just hate
Saying goodbye

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Remnants of a Long Day

4th day on the road, 13th painting completed, (4th on this day)

After a long day bouncing all over the area painting as efficiently and nonstop as I possibly could, I ended my 3rd piece with enough time to sneak in one more.

One thing that really jumps out about this coastline is how old some of these towns are and the degree to which modern development has passed many of them by. Old buildings from over 100 years ago, still stand and are in use today. The cabin I was staying in had a lot of art around showing some of these older buildings scattered around the coast, churches, water towers, etc… Remnants of a day long gone.

I think that got me fired up to paint one of these town scenes. It’s not my favorite subject matter, but in the interest of conveying the sense of place I thought it would be good to take a crack at one myself.

The hardest part was quickly finding an old water tower with a view of the coast in the distance as the light was fading fast. After driving around a bit I found this one and though it wasn’t quite as close to the water as I’d hoped, it would do considering I was working with just the final remnants of a long day.

Funny thing is getting back to the cabin, right next to where I was sleeping there was a painting on the wall of this exact scene, from this exact spot that I hadn’t really noticed before. Theirs was far more technical and accurate, but I did what I could. Not too often do I knock out 4 in a day. Going to sleep well tonight.

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Glass at Dusk

3rd day on the road, 9th painting completed, 3rd one this day

Not so long ago, and prior to the age of plastic’s dominance, one coastal town decided it’s beautiful bluffs overlooking the sea would be a great place for the town dump. It made all sorts of sense, what with the flat ground being suitable for simple pushing the refuse over the cliff onto the rugged beaches below for the ebb and flow of the ocean to do as it’s always done and make it all go away.

Well, it’s almost all gone now and you’d hardly know it ever was used as a dump, but what’s left behind is a bit of a wonder. All the glass bottles that were thrown away (this was maybe before recycling made economic sense) simply broke up, and worn by the sea and sand, filled entire beaches with translucent fragments. At first glance it just appears gravel, upon closer inspection it seems entire coves are made of glass.

I’d wanted to attempt a painting at beach level with afternoon light pouring through the beach glass, but the weather turned and I was left to wander around in the thick overcast evening air looking for a suitable cove. The first one I had in mind was blocked off from public access. No worries, I’d find another. Cove after cove was blocked and/or inaccessible. Well, I’ve hopped fences for paintings before and on account of the quickly fading light, I saw no reason not to add one more to the list.

It’s a perplexing conundrum this town faces now that it’s marketed this place as a destination for tourists, needing to keep them away from the best coves so the tourists don’t remove all the town’s old trash. Wait, what? Hard to believe that’s a real sentence, but there you have it. 

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Untouched

3rd day on the road, 8th painting completed, 2nd one this day. Making what I could of a rather dark gray day…

Well “Untouched” may be a misnomer for a title, this place has seen a lot of feet treading it’s paths being as close as it is to town. That said, it’s been spared from development and remains an unconsumed and pristine open space, a refuge for many from the trials of life.

She was dark and gray today, that open space expanding to the point where you feel that maybe you don’t belong, no one belongs. Almost as if the earth there is unsure of her beauty and just wants to be alone. The footpaths in the meadows yearn for healing, and are in the process now, but the scars of compression run too deep. They will not heal before the sun returns and brings the wounded from town back to these paths in search of joys, wonders, stoke and revelries.

She will open up to them, soothe them, give of herself for their betterment. But she will let not let them have her, she will send them all back after their brief dance. Some will return smiling, some in tears, but all will be changed by their encounter in some way.

On days like this, when she is dark and gray, she is also happy. It is these days she can be herself and wait upon her own healing. These are her sanctuary times, and they usually only come on moonless nights. Here on these dark days she can see herself better and she knows beyond the doubt of night that indeed she is beautiful. 

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