(framed) oil on canvas, 36in. w. by 24in. h.
There are places off the coast of Maine that are accessible only at low tide. It’s as though a giant has swallowed the ocean and is holding it in his mouth so as to allow the us two-leggeds to walk on the bottom of the sea.
These moments offer a window of two and a half hours in which to get myself and supplies out to an island, set up, paint, and get back to shore: Action painting, start to finish. Nothing holds still. The wind blows, the clouds shift, the light dims, even the horizon blurs. If I think I can return to the same spot and finish a painting of the day before, I’ve learned that nature's light is never a repeat performance.
I am not interested in painting pretty seascapes. I want to capture the muddy bottom, the wet-sand-smack of horizon held by sky in motion. These are mystic moments when I’d sit and meditate on a view, awaiting the plunge when paint and response merge as its own momentum.