i’m still working my way through johannes itten’s book on color theory, and trying to apply its lessons to my daily wrestling with art, composition, and color. i’m sure there’s a theory behind the colors of the mackerel. all i know is that somebody just got this one absolutely right. I mean like, dude. Whoever you are. Rock on.
in theory I suppose these oysters could have made pearls before succumbing to whatever oceanic force tore them from their moorings and tumbled them toward land. but i’m not sure i’ve ever seen a pearl with just this shade of creamy slate gray. and i’m not sure i would prefer any of the pearls i’ve ever seen to this collection of unpolished wrack.
beach tumbled oyster shells
i found myself admiring the delicate beauty of the striations on this crab’s back, and then i found myself feeling bad about the two left rear legs it lost before it washed up in a tide pool in collioure france. and then i checked wikipedia and saw a photo of a ghost crab feasting on one of the most adorable animals in the entire world–a loggerhead turtle hatchling, and i found myself thinking, hmmm. too bad about those back legs, you little monster.
crab (ghost crab? speckled crab? sand crab?)
mediterranean coast, near collioure, france
this is a good month for curling up behind someone whom you are completely devoted to. someone whose warm body gives endless winter comfort. someone to whom you have pledged eternal devotion, into whose ear you could spend entire days whispering how much you love him. in my case, this would be my puggle, jack. sorry, steve…
there are a lot of beloved trees here in the south of france. olive, cypress, almond, fig, kermes oak, plane trees. but there aren’t many towering trees. everything here, including the citizenry, seems to reach a certain diminutive height, and then decide that it’s too hot to work on growing any bigger. but the atlas cedar is like a football linebacker who just walked into a first grade classroom. it looks as if it can’t quite understand how it got here, nor how it is that no one in the room even comes up to its belt buckle.
atlas cedar limb