The Girl and the Sea

The trailhead played no favorites. A steep pitch was the only way up.   She eagerly set out on the paved path, cloaked in the shadows of the crisp, cool early morning air.  It wasn’t long before she started feeling overheated from the exertion and unzipped her jacket, tying it around her waist.

 She trudged the remaining incline reaching the crest which opened up to a grassy field.  Pausing to catch her breath, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the bright light.  A golden eagle flew by, followed by another, soaring effortlessly in synchronized unison.   She made her way to the check in point.  Every visitor was required to sign in and sign out in an effort to control the number of people entering the protected area and the resulting impact of their carbon imprint.  The attendant greeted her warmly.  She recorded her name and time of entry on the required paperwork.  Tucking the trail map in her pocket, she decided to take the four mile loop.

The trail took her through an expansive grassy field with the horizon of azure blue sky and ocean as her guide. Monarch butterflies flitted here and there awakening to the warmth of the sun. New blossoms of poppies were evidenced by tiny patches of orange. 

Soon, she made it to the edge of the bluff overlooking the ocean, the height catching her off guard.  A warning sign cautioned people to stay back. It was a sheer drop! A hundred feet beneath her the ocean swirled about in a deceivingly playful manner. 

Over eons of time, the repetition of waves and wind had etched out a magnificent cove.  A massive, prominent rock stood stalwart to the test of time, still holding on, battling the forces of erosion.   The rock was polished smooth, juxtaposed by sharpened edges, both resulting from the ravages of the sea.  She sat upon the soft grass on the top of the cliff and watched the waves roll in and out in a rhythmic dance.  Every now and then, a large swell brought a thunder of crashing waves against the rock, creating a spectacle of sea spray.  Soft curly wisps of clouds faded into the sky. 

Scanning the seascape like a periscope, she became completely immersed in the moment.  She centered her thoughts to the core of her being, acknowledging her body anchoring into the soil beneath her and opening up to its energy. She felt her soul travel through the cliff to the shore of the cove and out into the swirling white water.  Her spirit reveled in glee as it swirled, swished and crashed in the waves, eventually shoring up onto the small secluded beach. The pristine area was only privy to the harbor seals, sea otters and sea lions that might happen along later to catch the lingering sun and warmth of the day.  While she couldn’t physically make her way down the precarious steep cliff to the cove, she felt this place was one with her, planting the seed for Painting Number Two.  The painting should reflect a connection to the earth, a sense of belonging in the grand scheme, rather than what is visible to the naked eye.   She smiled and said to herself, “Yes, I will start the painting with this feeling of connection and let the brush, paint and canvas translate it into an image.”

The painting grew purely from the experience. It came to life with enjoyment, rooted in the feeling of connection, not in an attempt to replicate any of the photographs she took on her adventure. Her muse eagerly and happily showed up for work. And, Ursula, you ask?   Strangely, she was absent.  Perhaps during the visit to the coast Ursula took a bit of a detour, opting for the prize of a bigger catch and causing chaos in an “under the sea” pursuit.   Oh well, the painting is done now and her opinion matters naught, which is a really nice feeling.

Footnote:  For those of you just joining me on my painting journey, Ursula is my inner critic.  She played a large role in my first painting of 2019.  As her name suggests, she resembles the Ursula character from Disney’s Little Mermaid story.  If you missed the last instalment, feel free to catch up by reading “Three is a Crowd?”.