Sea Oats And Forgotten Boats

Winter at the shore, no traffic allows a person to move at their own pace, take a quick turn without the worry of blinkers or honking horns. A place like this appears abandoned, no one is coming to challenge my permission to be here. The sun is more forgiving, the grey sky more melancholy. The loneliness of being a painter feels in harmony with the chill in the air.

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