What’s the best thing about England? I have to shout first "cliffs!" I just came back from being buffeted and torn by the Atlantic winds blowing in from the ocean while I sat on the edge of a cliff trying to paint the jagged and wild cliff face across a rocky beach 1000 feet below me. I have taken hundreds of pictures of the Cornish cliffs between Bude and Widemouth Bay, but nothing can prepare one for the sheer magnificance of them until one is led to the edge. Sally’s Mum, Barbara, was horrified that I went to the edge to paint ("for the edge can fall off"). It’s not really the "edge," it’s more like a little piece of cliff and I sit in the grass and put my feet on the rock about a foot below. The piece I use for a foot stool has fallen about a foot below the rest of the cliff! Edges of the cliffs are sagging and falling down and in some places parts of the cliff path is roped off to keep one from going any second down with dramatic sagging parts. It is as if part of your living room started to sink… It might take 500 years for it to fall the 1000 or so feet into the sea, or it might happen while you are standing there! When I sit and look at the cliff edges and the beaches below, I just can’t get it "set in my mind" as it is constantly changing. First there are the clouds that blow over from the Atlantic to change the cliff face colors from light golden siena to black, and then there is the tide coming in to fill the beaches or leave the beaches dry to reveal black rock that looks like dinosaur back bones.. "It’s not Jurassic, it’s magestic," Sally tells me. We search for words to describe the sheer magnificance, but words fail. In the same way, my paint brush fails me. As I try to paint the picture before me, my eye is constantly moving across the amazing intricacy of rock and grass. Cliff follows cliff back into misty sky… It’s like looking into a mirror, but each tiny piece is different from the last!  Suddenly, I hear footsteps that intrigue me as I am really alone out on the cliff edge, but it is a tiny person walking below me across the beach made up of rocks about the size of a large person’s hand. The sound wafting up to me is like someone walking across pebbles. Birds fly past below me and that is unbalancing as I look "down" at the birds in flight. I take a breath and quell my fear of the sudden realization of my precarious perch. I look at what I have painted despite the wind that tried to suck the brushes and papers from my fingers. "Rubbish," is my analysis. It is way beyond my feeble efforts to capture this Grandeur! I put everything into a plastic bag and walk back to Sally’s house across the cliff path. My face is red from the wind and my eyes are wild with the dreamy-amazing view I’ve just tried to capture. I move from lofty perch to humble realization, "I can’t capture Mother Nature in a painting." I bow my head to God who created it and offer a small prayer… "Blessed be the Most Amazing God Who made such wonders. Thank God!" Love Susie
Categories