My legs dangle off the edge of a sailboat. Deep aqua waves blend in with my navy jeans. Thick layers of oil paint build the perception that the hand-holding purple and teal ripples are gently rolling toward me.
In John Ottis Adams’ “Dawn of Night” painting from 1909, the moon is the light source of the sky as the ocean tucks the remaining slip of deep red and yellow sun that peeks out above the water in bed. The moon looks like a tiny banana. The thin, bright yellow crescent descends a straight line of light into the sea, which water takes up two-thirds of the painting.
When I think about the sun setting, rarely do I consider the moon rising. But even when the sun is present, so is the moon, whether visible. Tonight, the moon is a glaring staple. It pierces a descending light through the rainbow of ocean colors — cool layers transition into greens and yellows that take over the water farther from my distance.
Pink is visible too, but far from my boat. My sight is so focused on the distance, but my internal telescope has limits. I can only imagine the city filled with human life, problems, and love, hundreds of miles from where I float. Here, it is just me, the moon, and many strokes of color.
I recognize it is the moon’s turn to shine. I have a complicated relationship with the moon. She constantly nags me with the looming end of the day. I do appreciate the serenity of her presence in the night sky, though, especially after an accomplishment filled day. Occasionally, as darkness embarks, I appreciate the close of another calendar date.
But more often, when the sun sets, I cry for darkness to suck the light source back into its being. I whisper to the moon “stay hidden” as my body quenches for warm rays to tap my skin again. More dramatically, I yearn to stay on this boat, in these jeans, at this age. Forever.
The sun is used to hearing praise. It often screams “Seize the day. The whole time I am up you are alive!” Whereas the moon is much quieter, less flashy, than the sun. It’s a reminder of livelihood in a more reflective way.
Sometimes the present, like this painting, even when the colors are chaotic, is peaceful. You feel like you are holding on to a tug-a-war rope splintering your hands as the sunset brings you father from the current state of bliss.
The beautiful part of this painting is that it has not changed for more than 100 years, and it never will. Unlike the surreal feeling scenes we experience in life, eventually, it will be the sun’s turn to take over the moon again. No one will make you sleep but you will have to accept the scene as the past.
