There are people who spend their holidays in cities. The nightlife, bustling streets, museums, people-watching, top-rated restaurants.
There are people who crave the land. They hike through mountain passes, through meadows of wild flowers and brambles, skinny-dip in cool lakes, light safe camp fires in the evening and pull comforters around them against the dew as they retell old stories.
Then there are sea people.
For each, something in that place, in their soul, pulls them in. The sea is mine.
Ireland is an island. Of course there is sea. On the east, the Irish Sea is rustic, waves crashing against rocky crags that emerge and submerge with the tide. The sun rises, tinting it pink.
On the west, the sea is majestic, strong, relentless. Angry waves, pulled from the New World, crash against the cliffs. Gentle water laps on the beaches. Ireland is not a land of sunbathers. The water is cold, the air is damp, the skin is very, very pale.
Beaches are for walking. Cliffs are for contemplation.
For this artist, nothing is more difficult to capture than the sea. A photograph does not whip the wind, forcing the jacket closed and the scarf wrapped tighter. A painting cannot scent the air. A drawing lacks the colors.
Nothing contains the sea.
Photo: Cloonagh Cliffs, Sligo, Ireland. ©Jeane Vogel Studios
