Confessions of a Florentine Pet Sitter


After the Storm and Before the Next…

 

After the Storm

In the morning, I woke up to a vision of gulls swarming over the beach, hundreds choreographed by instinct to move en mass like a gaggle of geese flying to Southern shores. Up and down the length of the waterfront they flew, looking for tiny crabs, clams and other sea delectables washed up by the night’s storm. Simon and I stood together. Mesmerized, we couldn’t stop looking. Simon loved to catch a sunrise with me.

As the early morning sun rose, lighting up the tree tops in a pink glow, the bird’s wings turned into glitter, as if some unknown force had picked up a handful and threw it into the sky. Dazzling. Unreal. It hovered there, defying gravity. An illusion, but no, it was real. It was the physical phenomenon of sunlight bouncing off their wings as they glided along in their faceted oval ring, some flying south, others, north.

The sun floated up into the dome, glittering wings disappeared, tree tops turned green again, and a new day was here. But it was a new day with another storm hovering on the horizon, setting the backdrop for this sparkly theater of nature. Even darker and more dramatic, I knew the morning after would surely reveal a monumental feast for the seagulls. A feast for Simon’s and mine eyes. But the new storm passed right by us. Never made land.

This painting, a large square acrylic canvas, is my attempt to capture all that glitter. All that sparkle. I caught the feeling of birds flying, but not the magic. Magic is fleeting and elusive.

Using the device of dark brown horizontal bars across the top and bottom serves to create a picture plane within the plane of the canvas itself, creating a greater illusion of deep space. A few of the gulls are flying right out of the picture plane at the viewer. I want to duck my head as I walk by it.

© 2007 Susan Canavarro ~ After the Storm, Before the Next Painting.
© 2010 Susan Canavarro  “Confessions” All Rights Reserved. No copying or use of text or images without written permission from the author, Susan Canavarro.


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