A long day spent out on the water is better than any day spent on land. Meandering through the creeks searching for fish that are hungry, is as good of an excuse as any to get out into the place we call home. 

The sound of the water.  The tangy salty smell of the oyster beds nestled in the marsh mud, baking in the morning sun.  And the grass. 

I have such a love affair with that marsh grass.  At low tide,  it towers above me. Lush and thick, a tangle of color now, golds and purples, browns, oranges, pinks and greens.  Tangled at the edges of the water.  Little secret passageways leading back into the marsh, line the waters edge, where the marsh hens roost and I’m sure where the fish are hiding.  Surrounded by water and grass as far as the eye can see, it is just us… our boat just a speck in the middle of this never ending sea of grass and creeks. 

It is good to feel small.  In a world that seeks to reward those that feel big and important, it is the most marvelous feeling to feel almost invisible.  To disappear into the landscape.  To become a part of it. 

For me, the whole reason for painting is to be at one with the landscape.  To smell it. To touch it. To feel it. To see it.  To grasp what it is that truly moves me to paint it.  To have it fill my whole being with the wholeness of what is around me.  And put that emotion, those feelings, on the canvas in front of me.  That’s what it is all about.  That is the trueness of art.  Not Instagram Reels.  Not new painting releases.  Not Facebook stories.  Or art competitions.  Or any of the dozens of things we, as artists, get caught up in because of the business of art.

Art is about the depth of emotion that moves us to paint.  To be part of something much bigger than yourself. It is pouring ourselves into something and becoming invisible as the art itself becomes visible.