Not My Masterpiece

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The soft white sand, basking in the sun’s rays, felt warm against my sinking feet. Small particles stuck between my toes and the gleaming sun covered my skin. The a gentle touch of the cool breeze flowed by my face. The smell of ocean filled the air.
Translucent blue water glistened under the yellow sun. Seagulls circled the shallows to find their catch. The rhythmic sounds of water crashing against jagged rocks softened the birds’ squawking. Two pelicans floated over the sea.
Surrounded by the beauty and wonder, I felt an instant calm. Tranquility flowed through my veins and my body floated free. Closing my eyes, I sensed security and peace. I forgot about the world’s worries. Nature was the only thing left. Fifteen hundred miles away from my homeland; I had no fear.
I came to the island to paint my masterpiece. My brother came to bike, Dad to hike, and Mom to snorkel, but I had other anticipations: oil and canvas. My surreal thoughts were once fiction. But now they had come alive and were more beautiful than I ever imagined. Words could hardly express the wonders of this place. But I had another way to capture this beauty on paper: my brushes and pallet.
With each stroke against the canvas, I recreated the island scene as I imagined it. On my canvas, an uncertain shadow seemed to reveal itself beneath the brown pelican scanning the ocean’s depths. Yellow and white specs saturated the surface of the blue and green sea. I pushed explosions of white across the rocks. And then I was done. My forms and my colors did not mirror the beauty of the island. Instead they showed a moment, frozen in time, that I had not even seen until it showed itself on the canvas. My scene was a creature of its own creation.





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