I love rocks. Always have. I come from a family of rock lovers. One of my most fond memories is rock picking somewhere in New Brunswick with my sister, mom and dad. I believe there were even signs at this one particular beach that said “no rock picking”. Somehow that seemed wrong. It’s not like we were going to take the whole beach full of rocks (though often times it feels like we’ve made a valiant attempt). As nervous as we were about breaking a law, we still couldn’t help ourselves, our jacket pockets were bulging. Pulling out of the parking lot, the car riding quite low to the ground, we felt like we’d done something illicit.
But a beach with such signage is rare, thank the gods. Rock picking is one of those free joys, it fills hours and hours, absorbs the mind and appeals to the aesthetic senses. Only you the rock picker know exactly what you are looking for, what the criteria for the perfect rock might be. Often it is dictated by the location, the type of rocks that have formed there. Some beaches are good for the round, smooth rock, others for the colours and textures. Some beaches have beach glass, or worn bricks. I love it all. My husband doesn’t get it. He has conceded to sit beside me for a little while, looking at rocks, but I far outlast him in terms of rock picking stamina. He also, strangely, does not feel compelled to take them home. He’s never said it but rather suggested through body language that he thinks I’m a bit touched-in- the-head, so to speak, when it comes to rocks.
Believe me, I felt vindicated when my family came to visit me for our wedding on the coast. This was the scene:
I know I am not alone!! When I’m with my clan, we know the business of rocks. I swear we stayed on our bellies for at least 2 hours straight if not more and had to tear ourselves away from that beach to go and “be social” and try not to be “antisocial rock picking maniacs”.
Luckily I have a decent camera, so now, instead of taking the entire beach home, I take pictures of ones that don’t quite make the cut but are still beautiful. The best ones come home with me.
And what do I do with those rocks, pray tell? They make beautiful arrangements in bowls, or around succulents. They have also managed to become the subject of paintings. There is an energy about rocks. I feel calm when I am looking at them and holding them in my hands. So, I decided to try to convey the feeling I get from rocks in a painted format:
This is the first painting of rocks I’ve done, and it was immensely satisfying.
Recently I got my hands on a piece of scrap bamboo board from my father-in-law’s wood shop. Here are the beginnings of my next rock painting:
What do you think? Loopy rock lover or a kindred spirit?