Where we go for our annual 'snowbird' the dunes are shaped by wind and water, every year they're different, and in hurricane years...much is lost to the angry sea.
Through The Dunes
Glazed Acrylic, on cradled wooden panel, ready to hang
I'm fascinated by the spaces between. Little bits of wild, left behind by the plough, too rough or inconvenient for the ploughman, but loved by the wildlings.
This driftwood, greeted us each year on Hunting Island beach, until Hurricanes Mathew, and Rita devastated the island, washing away much of the beach and most of the 'boneyard' trees.
I'm very glad that I sketched and subsequently painted it, before it disappeared.
A remnant of rural life, surrounded by developing subdivisions, safe only until it becomes worth the work of flattening the rolling landscape. I record it while I can.
Recorded on a hot summer day, Don's hill, was an anomaly, a steep drop into what may have once been the bed of a rushing glacial river, long gone, and now permanently erased to make way for a "better" road.