After the Storm

8x16 oil

Even at dusk on a wet and dreary storm-black day, a sunset can be so delicious that it snaps me out of my unconsciousness, as if some mysterious unseen hand reaches over to shake my shoulder and say, “Hey, guy … look!”

On this night I was heading out to see one of my sons. I was in the thick flow of evening rush hour traffic, barreling along a dark stretch that runs past the Wildlife Preserve In Tualatin, Oregon. The sight of this sky almost made me gasp, not so much because of its dramatic beauty, but more because of the awakening jolt and realization that I was driving on autopilot. Not present. Living in my head. Thinking. Of what, who can ever remember?

I pulled off the road at the first turnout I came to and stepped out into the rain to gaze at the sky and take a few photos. Another car pulled over behind me. A woman got out, and we both stood in the rain and soaked in the almost holy panorama. She smiled at me as she got back into her car and drove off. I smiled and waved back. It’s crazy, but that brief connection and shared experience made me happy, really happy. Why, I have no clue. But there it was.

The sky was pitch black by the time I headed home, and the only colors were in the shivering reflections on the wet highway. I was back in the flow. Back in my head. Back in my comfortable cocoon. Thinking the same thoughts I’d thought a thousand times before.

This is one reason I paint … to have something to remind me — to remind anyone — of the exquisite organization of the natural world, of the magnificent gift of what I like to call God’s Art … to remind me of how exceedingly small I am in the grand scheme of existence. 

But mostly … to remind me to stay awake or risk sleeping through my one precious life.