A Beachside Artist

An artist, a beachside artist stands atop a cliff overlooking an azure sea below, recording his vista on a canvas. Multiple paintings line up beside him stretching out along the sea wall. The square canvases are variations on a theme: the colorful celebration of life at the beach. Tourists file past, some linger to admire the joyous paintings, and a few return to buy. 

My station of inspiration
The scene in this beachside community is quintessential vacation: sun, sea, patio restaurants, beach umbrellas and hoards of happy day-trippers. The artist is lucky; all who trip along the beachside wall on this stupendous day are inspired by the natural beauty of this place. They pose for pictures along the wall and stop to soak in everything beach. The artist is recording this same scene in real time. The brown pelicans fly overhead; the movement gets a brush mark on the canvas. A cloud momentarily covers the sun; another brush stroke. The tourists buy and enjoy the artist’s paintings because they are a small memento of their day, and the purchase fills two parties with happiness.

The scene is something I experienced recently. The artist struck me, because I too was in the beachside community to be inspired and express my craft, my writing craft. However, my craft would not be appreciated or admired on the spot. My craft takes longer and cures longer. The ocean breeze and a quiet spot on the beach had me scrawling thoughts and notes, but it is not until now that I can compose those thoughts and incorporate my day at the beach into both this blog and add dressing to my novel.

An artist is one who professes and practices an imaginative art. An artist can hold a paintbrush, or pen or a musical instrument or _________ (fill in the blank). Some of the arts are experienced instantaneously while others have a delayed experience and appreciation. Artists want their craft to be enjoyed; it is a measure of success and fuels an artist to continue, to create. 

I’m a tad jealous of the beachside artist. He creates and has something to show straight away, and I do not. I could run back to the hotel and blog, recording my day, but will never experience the same immediate appreciation of my craft. 

After sitting on the beach for a few hours, I packed up my notebook and beach chair and head back to the car. The artist who I had passed earlier had vanished. His moment of artistic expression and appreciation was over and mine had only begun.