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| Pic: Andrew Bowden |
The sky was dark. The waves were swollen, crested by strokes
of black and purple. Accents of white foam edged the dusky sand. A woman, dressed in a smart pinstripe suit, was
facing the storm. She was standing still and supple, as if the day’s weariness
had been swallowed by the violent waves.
Sky and waves, meeting in the distance - where did the sky
end and the sea start? Dark clouds were gathering and soon silver flashes
fragmented the sky. A moon ray filtered
out of a cloud: a translucent beam in the midnight blue.
She was waiting, her bare feet washed by the sea, her eyes
on the far horizon. High sprays bathed her face, making her eye make-up run
down in dark rivulets. In those roaring waves, in that soaked sand, in that sky
split by lightning, there was a force. A powerful one she had not encountered
before.
Invisible arms were enveloping her. A supreme being breathed
in the sea, sky and sand. The storm was his powerful lullaby. Tired, she lay on
the sand and closed her eyes.
At last all was calm. The sea was an indigo brush stroke,
the sky a jewelled midnight blue, the woman a shapeless body on the burnt sienna
sand. A suffused light illuminated the unframed canvas, a pair of black high-heeled
shoes neatly placed underneath.
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