Rivers and rocks

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.