This painting was created entirely on location in Cape Elizabeth, Maine—a place where the rhythms of life collide: lobstermen launch their skiffs, vacationers pause to breathe in the sea air, and tides whisper secrets as they come and go. At first glance, it’s a peaceful coastal scene—lush grass, a lone bush leaning into a quiet, blue-gray sky, and distant views of Crescent Island.
But what draws me in is what lies beneath.
The foreground’s beauty is cut short—abruptly—by jagged rocks and sea-dark terrain. When the tide pulled back, it revealed something unexpected: a radiant layer of golden seaweed shimmering against the cool blue waters. What was hidden became the most compelling part.
This painting holds a quiet truth: life, too, is a contrast in terrains. On the surface, we might smile, say we’re fine, keep things light and lovely. But underneath, we may be carrying grief, anxiety, or exhaustion. That rugged, unseen layer isn’t weakness—it’s part of the landscape. It’s where resilience lives. Sometimes healing begins not with hiding the hard places, but by gently revealing them—just as the tide reveals the beauty beneath.
If you’re struggling right now, know this: the parts of you that feel sharp or worn or too hidden to share may, in time, shine with gold. The underlayer—the stuff beneath the surface—isn’t the end of your story. It may be the beginning of your becoming.
This painting was created entirely on location in Cape Elizabeth, Maine—a place where the rhythms of life collide: lobstermen launch their skiffs, vacationers pause to breathe in the sea air, and tides whisper secrets as they come and go. At first glance, it’s a peaceful coastal scene—lush grass, a lone bush leaning into a quiet, blue-gray sky, and distant views of Crescent Island.
But what draws me in is what lies beneath.
The foreground’s beauty is cut short—abruptly—by jagged rocks and sea-dark terrain. When the tide pulled back, it revealed something unexpected: a radiant layer of golden seaweed shimmering against the cool blue waters. What was hidden became the most compelling part.
This painting holds a quiet truth: life, too, is a contrast in terrains. On the surface, we might smile, say we’re fine, keep things light and lovely. But underneath, we may be carrying grief, anxiety, or exhaustion. That rugged, unseen layer isn’t weakness—it’s part of the landscape. It’s where resilience lives. Sometimes healing begins not with hiding the hard places, but by gently revealing them—just as the tide reveals the beauty beneath.
If you’re struggling right now, know this: the parts of you that feel sharp or worn or too hidden to share may, in time, shine with gold. The underlayer—the stuff beneath the surface—isn’t the end of your story. It may be the beginning of your becoming.
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