I'll never be a great artist, but when I'm before a sight that resonates within me, I want to say, "I was here. This is what I saw."
|I was here. This is what I saw.|
My excellent pastels teacher, Kristine Sullivan, would not approve of the attention I paid to the weathered wood of this staircase. Kris, I had to do it. Something inside told me it was important to record the splintery wood as truly to its splinters as I could.
As I was sketching, the dogs sensed the presence of a nearby canine and shot down the stairs, barking. They made friends with a golden retriever passing on the beach, did a few play bows, and came back when I called them. As they parted, the golden retriever saw fit to mark the post at the bottom of the stairs.
This image, and the memory of having created it, have to get me through the winter.
Can you hear the water? Can you feel the heat of the sun?