The sand of Muir Beach is ever an elusive, artist's palette. It is swept constantly by sea and wind, its surf adds and subtracts. One cannot become too attached to any particular composition. None are made to last. But, in their brief life, they are lovely as anything ever conceived.
If the wind and surf are the relentless artisans at constant work on their grand opus, the birds are the unpredictable sorcerers of the beach. The surf can work patiently for hours on a particular construct. Then a bird will come along and walk all over it. Or poop on it. The birds are fearless in their creativity. Not even Jackson Pollock had the audacity.
Some time ago I spend most every morning at Muir Beach to visually map it as part of a graduate school assignment. During those quiet mornings I learned of these sand paintings. Their simple majesty were, to me, the visual equivalent of Haiku.
Lately, I have returned to Muir Beach. It is an unassuming place when one considers that alluring drama of our great Northern California coast. A tiny and homely beach, its charm must be earned through quiet contemplation and repeat visits. But how can one resist these tiny works of art and their infinite possibility?
Today I am debuting a new series of sand compositions. The series will consist of photos of these found masterpieces and will soon be posted in a gallery on my web site. Here is Number #1.