Finding the Edge: Art, Photography, and the Oregon Coast

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I’ve never been one to live on the edge.

But this past week was defined by them.

I’ve just returned from ten remarkable days in Oregon—opening the National Photo Encaustic Exhibition and teaching two back-to-back workshops. Before I even arrived, my imagination was already fixed on the Oregon Coast. I couldn’t stop thinking about edges.

Trees meeting sky.
Mountains dissolving into fog.
Rocks shaped by water.
Horizons where land ends and the unknown begins.
Textures layered by time, tide, and weather.

The Oregon Coast is a place where edges are unavoidable—and impossible to ignore.

An edge is where one thing stops and another begins. It’s also where tension lives. And tension, I’ve come to believe, is where learning happens and change begins.

This idea followed me as I walked mile after mile along the beaches. As the tide receded, it revealed patterns, textures, and quiet lessons about letting go. Each day felt both grounding and expansive—filled with beauty, gratitude, love, and even a touch of sadness.

At the same time, I found myself reflecting on a personal edge. I’m turning fifty at the end of the month, and surprisingly, it doesn’t feel like loss or limitation. It feels like arrival. A moment of clarity. A willingness to push myself further, creatively and personally, than I ever have before.

Life doesn’t move in straight lines. It unfolds in edges.

Years ago, someone once suggested that I worked with wax because it “covered” the image—that I was hiding behind it. They even implied that I wasn’t ready to let people see the real me.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I work in wax because of its luminosity. Because it slows the viewer down. Because it invites looking more deeply rather than consuming an image quickly. Photo encaustic doesn’t conceal—it reveals. It creates space for nuance, emotion, and quiet discovery.

Much like the Oregon Coast, the layers matter.

Making art isn’t about staying comfortable. It’s about finding your edge—and stepping into it.

Push yourself.
Be uncomfortable.
Pay attention to where the tension appears.

That’s where the magic lives.

The Oregon Coast reminded me to trust the process, to release what no longer serves, and to stay open to what comes next. It taught me—again—that creativity is an act of presence, courage, and curiosity.

As I look ahead to the next chapter, I’m filled with gratitude. For the landscape. For the work. For the edges that continue to shape both my art and my life.

And for the reminder that sometimes, standing at the edge is exactly where we’re meant to be.

 

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Would love to hear from you about your thoughts.  Leave your comment below.

Be well….be creative,

Clare

 

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