I was wide awake at 3:15 Sunday morning. As long as my sleeping brain cells were finished, why not use the additional time to drive the 45 minutes out to Desert View and catch sunrise on the East Rim. The stars were slightly veiled by high thin clouds, but I was sure that the rising sun would burn that off. I started out at 4:45 and arrived, still in darkness at 5:30. On the way, I saw a bull elk amble off into the forest, a baby bunny warming his toes on the pavement, and surprise of all, when I arrived, a nightjar landed on the road right in front of my car. These are secretive birds and have a peculiar, distinctive profile. He just sat there in my headlights. I couldn't pull off onto my gravel apron and I just sat there on the pavement, just like he. Good thing there was no other traffic entering the Park at that time! It finally occurred to me to flash my headlights at him. He flew off.
I was treated to a fantastic three-minute brilliant sunrise, then a dull, wax-paper sky after that. I'd driven all the way out here; I was determined to get a painting finished. I set up on the rim, sat on a log, enjoyed a sip of coffee, sketched out the scene, then got started. The painting may not have that flare of color I'm always looking for. This one is a little more, well, pensive. However, when there is no bright sunlight, one can more easily see into the distance. If you look carefully, and if you know the landscape, you'll see Shinumo Altar in the distance, and that break between the Vermilion and the Echo Cliffs.
Somewhere in the Distance is available Sunday Sept. 17 at Kolb Studio.
I was wide awake at 3:15 Sunday morning. As long as my sleeping brain cells were finished, why not use the additional time to drive the 45 minutes out to Desert View and catch sunrise on the East Rim. The stars were slightly veiled by high thin clouds, but I was sure that the rising sun would burn that off. I started out at 4:45 and arrived, still in darkness at 5:30. On the way, I saw a bull elk amble off into the forest, a baby bunny warming his toes on the pavement, and surprise of all, when I arrived, a nightjar landed on the road right in front of my car. These are secretive birds and have a peculiar, distinctive profile. He just sat there in my headlights. I couldn't pull off onto my gravel apron and I just sat there on the pavement, just like he. Good thing there was no other traffic entering the Park at that time! It finally occurred to me to flash my headlights at him. He flew off.
I was treated to a fantastic three-minute brilliant sunrise, then a dull, wax-paper sky after that. I'd driven all the way out here; I was determined to get a painting finished. I set up on the rim, sat on a log, enjoyed a sip of coffee, sketched out the scene, then got started. The painting may not have that flare of color I'm always looking for. This one is a little more, well, pensive. However, when there is no bright sunlight, one can more easily see into the distance. If you look carefully, and if you know the landscape, you'll see Shinumo Altar in the distance, and that break between the Vermilion and the Echo Cliffs.
Somewhere in the Distance is available Sunday Sept. 17 at Kolb Studio.