One step into the water.
It’s so COLD.
It doesn’t feel friendly at all. Not at first. But I wade in trying to be brave.
The ocean scares me. It’s the waves. Here comes one now. Right at me. A diamond beast that grows larger and larger; louder and louder, roaring at me. It’s an arm that stretches the entire length of the strand, it’s skin blue and green studded with fire fueled by the sun. It’s hands are white foaming claws that grab and scrape at the sand, fingers crawling up higher and higher onto the beach, until they finally exhaust themselves and drag back out to their beautiful, blue, drowned existence.
But they were looking for me, those clawing hands and curling fingers. They’ll think it’s funny to drag me out there. They’ll steal my bathing suit top and laugh and laugh at me. They’ll clean out my sinuses with sand and salt and say, “See what good we’ve done you?!”
So I’m careful. I’m so very, very cautious. I watch the waves to see what sort of mood the sea is in. How strong or angry or mellow or mischievous is she feeling today. How many big boisterous waves can she make before she gets tired and has to rest for a few beats. I watch her and wait for my chance to slip in quietly between one tumult and the next to dip my browning old carcass into the shocking salty cold that changes my perception of the universe. Eases me. Erases me. Washes me in the timelessness of salt water and fish offal and the pee of countless beachgoers and the immensity of the endless ocean that dissolves it all, dilutes everything. Including me. So that nothing matters so much. Nothing so much as floating and watching. And getting the hell OUT before she grabs me with those strong, strong, groping, grasping, foamy hands and rolls me like a washing machine into a better self.
Literally JUST got back from two weeks in the company of the aforementioned beast and managed a studio day today. Now, assuming 20 hours of drying time will be sufficient, I send this out into the world to try and entice you to come and have a look. You’ve probably never seen a seascape from me. I don’t think I, myself, have. But these days, who remembers. Maybe you could just come and help me with that … remembering … day after tomorrow:
Saturday, March 10 3-5 PM
Studio Gallery 234
780 Woodberry Road
York, PA 17403