I woke up next to the murmuring marsh in South Carolina. From the porch I could see the green sky starting to turn bronze. There wasn’t any time to waste! “Now!” said that voice inside me. “Get the paints set up right now!” I threw on my clothes and flew to my easel and palette.
Painting at all times of day, and at all times of life. This was one of those times it was better to get into that spot and try to burn the impression into your brain. I knew that I might only have 30 minutes to grab what I could of this moment. Thirty minutes until I would be blinded by the trumpet blast of the sun full in the face announcing the start of a new day.
There was dew on my friend’s porch, the dew of a coastal fall in South Carolina; refreshing dew that must not mix with my paint. As I flung the colors out on the palette and let my brush fly from each little plop of color to another I felt the thrill I always do of chasing the fleeting moment with a brush.
Burn the sunrise into your cortex and you fill your soul with enough gold to last a lifetime.
This was an extraordinary morning. I was up early and there was not a baby in the house. My friend’s house was a special haven for me that weekend. I am a mother of five. The twins and the big three were at home in North Carolina with their Daddy. I was bursting with the stuffed down expectation of painting unfettered all day. The day was full of promise. A neighborhood oyster roast with my friend’s neighbors and an evening with artist friends.
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