The waves at Seaview come in steady, one after another, breaking close to shore. I sat with my sketchbook open, watching their rhythm build and collapse. The air carried that salty brightness, and the sound of the water was everywhere—layered, insistent, never still.
The drawing became about motion. Not a single wave, but the repetition, the push and pull of the tide. The brush carried the color in quick strokes, letting the sea’s rhythm set the pace.