Night Before a Hurricane


Night Before a Hurricane, oil on board, 23"x31", Steven Rhude

A long way from Chinatown and bok choy, she still remembered the market noise and that vendor's high pitched voice. Produce, dirt and the art of humanity everywhere.

It's where she saved him, took life drawing and heard that the figure was really a landscape - or a suit of skin; not to be rendered with facility only. Finding the rest of the equation would be the mission.

Solving it would be impossible.

 She was a parabolist - jettisoned by modernism.

The cove was a different market of sorts. Invisible vendors of Periwinkles and Urchins;
 with Rock Weed keeping the pulse of the tide.

'Why did we come to the end of the earth... did you ever wonder?' he asked.
 'How do you know it's the end? The locals say it's where it all starts.'

It was also their studio without walls.

A place to retreat and let the place change them, just the way the coast changed in the smoky heat of storm season.

Sometimes they argued. Sometimes they were just one.

'There's a hurricane coming tomorrow you know.'
' How do you know?' he asked.
But she was usually one step ahead of him

'The signs are there... besides I still listen to the news.'


Steven Rhude, Wolfville, NS.

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