I'm working on a painting, referencing a photo I took in Seattle. It's the edge of a dock where it meets the water at Mt Baker Beach on Lake Washington. Those docks sprinkled around the lake are slices of magic in the middle of Seattle. This particular dock, you walk the length of it and then opt to go down another length to the right or left. It's a safe path to a place you wouldn't be without it. Somewhere around halfway down the dock, you feel yourself leaving the immediacy of whatever is happening in your day, in your life. You look back and see the shore, watching with a sense of remove as life passes by.
You've just entered a subtle portal - a suspension of time - where you are outside looking in.
Cars drive by on the frontage road, people, by themselves or in small groups, ride bikes, jog, walk their dogs, and sit on benches. And you aren't among them. You are plucked out, suddenly separate. And it feels amazing.
If you turn back toward the lake, the water fills your peripheral vision. You see bridges spanning across the water, and an occasional boat, kayak, or paddleboard floating by. Across the water, tree-covered hillsides dotted with expensive homes and their private docks (can we shout out three cheers for public docks?!) And, if you look south on a clear day, you'll see Mt. Rainier.
"Mountain's out today - have you seen it? Beautiful!"- we'd say to each other later.
And then, we'd go our separate ways to our next obligation, task, or errand.
With creativity and hope,
Janece
