16" x 20", mixed media on canvas (ORIGINAL)

The tide was out, but the day still moved like water. She walked the familiar edge where land loosens its grip—rocks slick with memory, salt breath on the wind, gulls cutting paper-thin paths through the sky. Every step pulled up a fragment: the clink of beach glass in a pocket, a childhood pier painted the colour of storm, a yellow slicker flashing like laughter against the grey.

Back in the studio, she worked like the shoreline itself—advancing, receding, revealing. Slate blues and deep-sea greys set the weather; whites dragged across the surface like foam rinsing stone. She pressed in small windows of teal, as if peering down into tide pools, then let warm ochre slip through in quick, bright strokes—the sudden joy of sun between clouds, the stripe of a boat, the gold of seaweed braided to a mooring rope.

Forms gathered the way stories do when told out of order: a shard here, a bar of colour there, a scatter of dots like rain beginning. What held them wasn’t chronology but tide—an intuitive rhythm of pull and return. In the end, the painting felt like standing at that threshold again, where everything you’ve loved about the water is present at once: the hush, the grit, the shine, the way the horizon keeps its promises without ever saying a word.

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