It is a hurricane.  One tree is already gone.  The light is bizarre.  Not as dark as the storm of a tornado, it is more frugal.  Some faint hint at daylight still gets through.  Already the storm surge has mounted it's thrust.  And anyone standing as close as this to the sea will be drowned.  Soon it will be all over and the calm will return for a few minutes.  

In that, the eye, so called, there is stillness and birds fly in it's refuge.  But the deception, tho it isn't, but what else can it be called? ... is over and the peak of the gale resumes with relentless force.  All that is loose can be a deadly missile.  Those venturing out walk at extreme angles to ground, and, being knocked over, can meet death in the windswept tumbling as they are moved along, sustaining concussion with the relentless ground in the winds.

It is a hurricane.

It is a tempest of blues in the hand of the artist with the force of five and seven hogs hair bright brushes.  There is the violet of the cobalt blue wind, and the greenishness of the thalo blue sea.  They clash behind a tree of umber and viridian mixed with cadmium yellow and titanium white.  The paint does not touch the edges of one object that weathers all for it is not it's time: a solitary coconut in the fronds that will ride other storms elsewhere some day as another tree, ready to give homage to the fierce winds, to bend and so not to break.

Click here to go to the "Hurricane" page for more.

Click here to look at digital art based on the Hurricane oil painting.