Seaside, OR

There’s a group of trees along the promenade that I admire every time I come here. Their twisting trunks and dense needles are a testament to their struggle. Wind from the ocean curves nearly all major branches away from the prevailing blow, but new branches continually struggle toward the light and moisture, creating a counterpoint of swooping branches and cantilevered clumps of needles.
I set up my easel with a two of these sculptures silhouetted against sea and sky. Find that my medium is missing; I must have left it in Cannon Beach yesterday. Need to make a habit of checking my paint site AFTER I pack up. This reminds me of the time that we were skiing and Rick left his boots outside the car. (I think that he really just wanted a new pair of boots.) Anyway, need to remember to put a new jar of medium in the box when I get home. So I’m painting with straight oil paint, which is okay, just different.
I have a great time mixing a variety of greens and golds for the beach grass. In March, it looks even more dead than it does in the winter, more beaten down, defeated. When does the new grass grow? What happens to the old dead grass when new blades take its place? I’ll have to come back to see.