![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLpjWcPCTPW_gYDs7c3si5aDNcgsBx2XJJn7e1bS2wiHp_5NtGhRpCUWGuycCc4Gorbz0BMehZW33lrqv1UfSqt9UEHdG492gnr6aCJdpkK1kNHmBkTVPyOxvCFqw__FWyUH3exiTxzN1/s400/vista+al+mar.jpg)
I love to watch - and of course to paint the waves rolling in at the beach. There is something reassuringly artistic about the fact that such a repetitive action can happen without it's outcome ever looking quite the same.
Not long ago I walked on a beach of the Pacific Ocean, at the Nayarit village of San Pancho in Mexico. A woman of the Huichol tribe, dressed in her brightly colored traditional outfit, was sitting on a pile of sand, looking at the sea. Maybe she was pondering the same thing while her daughter played with a dog nearby.
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