Wordless Wednesdays--colors of the ocean

Now for those of you who also follow me on Facebook, I did spend last week-end at the ocean. The wedding of a favorite niece and her husband.  The Cape to be precise. How glorious it was. I hadn't been there in years. Still much of it looked as I remembered. Sure our brakes failed on the Southeast Expressway--scary. Though it was not my car and nor my brakes.  I was not driving. They got fixed.   The power went off just as they were ready to lower the car down from the lift. But all of this is another story.

We got there in time. The couple glowed.  My brother-in-law looked happy and proud. I knew my sister-in-law would have approved.  And I got time by the ocean.  Time to absorb the colors. Not the ones that immediately come to my mind. The rich blues and teals. The vibrant greens. No, these were the subtler colors of the clouds and the sand. Light dancing in its own muted form. And yes, perhaps--well I should say probably--a quilt or two.

But first I must share these colors with you--and perhaps in sharing--learn even more. (And you thought I did these posts for you. Nope, I do them for myself.)

OK--this is supposed to be wordless. Or almost wordless.

So here is the ocean. Those horizons. Wonderful and haunting. Yes, just the hint of rain.

 Deep--almost sultry colors of mystery and promise.

Accented of course by the greens. Life itself. On the shore. There should be a poem here. So classic and pure.

I had forgotten the browns and tans of the sand. Again seemingly endless. Forever. The same but always varied. Don't you love the ripples left by the tide departing?

 

The random bits of weed and shells. Arranged with such lack of care until it is hard to crop because that inserts the person into the scene. Is this right or does it spoil it? Hard to say.

The bright sea tomato. An accent. A jewel. Just waiting to be discovered.

And the waves. The story that is there. Force against force. Constant. Eternal. Sometimes so subtle the sky reflects in the waves. Notice the colors. Oh yes, a quilt.

Sometimes with rocks. Another story. Another time.

And then there is a swimmer. Yes, this is a story. Words can be added. A feeling of endless and longing. A power and a statement.

And alas time to leave. So soon and yet so long. Such a feeling inside of completion and mystery. And for you. And the ocean. What is it? What is the meaning?

And how do you incorporate it into your art and your being?