I've been thinking about rivers. We have an artist, Steven Stavost, at the Celebration of Fine Art, who paints beautifully precise rocks in water, such as you would see in a still eddy in the river. The rocks are so real that they look photographic. Amazing painting. What I noticed is that the rocks are worn smooth by the assumed river, that they have jostled around, bumping the sharp edges off each other, finally settling into a stable group, and the river moves around them.
Sometimes Syed and I get away for a day in NC and go up towards the mountains, stopping along a river we have a fondness for. Fast moving water, lots of rocks, swift currents that can drag a swimmer a long way from where they waded into the cold water. Along the shore there are places where the rocks have been deposited by the river, forming a calm and safe place for soft conversations, perhaps a cat nap.
And the river flows on, carrying some with it, depositing others at the edge, until, I suppose, each rock and pebble finds a place.
In Steven's paintings I don't see the moving river. I only see the beautiful rocks, a harmony of distinctive individuals.
Good night, NW Salon.