10-10-10 It’s 8:15 a.m. and I’m facing east, sitting on the beach.  The beach is completely serene and satiny in this light.   The sound of waves as they dissipate has a long sheen to it as well.  The beach has few people, no clutter of human furnishings– just pelicans on their long horizontal flight path. That’s what I love about this beach– the depth and wideness of it, and the emptiness.  So, in words I save this moment, sewing it into a bag I will carry with me into winter, early darkness, repelling chill, small spaces.  I will take out the bag and open it to breathe back in the missing pieces of the 360 degrees of my life.

I’m just back from the last summer vacation– a long weekend at the coast.  My friends, BJ and Rodney Cooper joined me there.  We started the weekend by staying up until 3 a.m. talking, but as time passed I unwound, and the weekend became more restful.  We bought shellfish and enjoyed cooking.  Rod made a tomato tart I can still taste if I think about it.  I took long early morning walks and spent as much time as I could outdoors.  The sunshine stupor set in, which disables thinking and forces relaxation.

Rod and I visited a small local gallery and left feeling like we’d overdosed on candy– the color oppressively bright and sweet.  One wearies of beach  cliches.  Having painted dozens of pieces in that environment I know how hard it is to find a fresh and unexpected approach.  Sometimes I give up and just paint what I see, just to be painting– no clever twist, no new idea. 

But later, back on the beach, I realized how many odd and lovely things  there were to look at.  The skies were deeply patterned wtih buttermilk clouds.  I found the perfect round black stone.  A gull walked by with a small crab in its beak.  Someone sculpted a sea turtle in the sand and paved its back with scallop shells.  The marsh was remote and romantic.  Chartreuse butterflies flocked to the wildflowers on the dunes.  They hovered next to trumpet shaped blossoms that were both orange and fuschia.  We found a dune covered in bay bushes and crushed the leaves to smell them.  Today, back in the classroom, I passed out broken seashell fragments, chosen especially  for their unexpected  qualities, and told my students to draw them, exploring them as abstract forms.