DANCING DIAMONDS

Imagine what it would be like to live in the desert, where water is a precious commodity. Where signs are posted in public places requesting you use as little of the water as possible. Where the droughts are so intense that trees just up and die and wicked wildfires mysteriously erupt. Where big black clouds of smoke fill your house with the smell of charred devastation and soot covers everything inside your home, making dusting just about a daily requirement. Where water is helicoptered over your home in a desperate fight against raging fires, closing in on your community, 8,000 feet up in the mountains of New Mexico.

And then a week later, to be living 2,000 miles away, sitting on the edge of a dock, surrounded on three sides by water. Water filled with life, with crabs and oysters and other creatures indigenous to the Northern Neck of Virginia. Where water fowl and other birds make the water their hunting ground. Ospreys, Great Blue Herons, and Bald Eagles dive bombing for a bit of Perch, or if they are lucky, the local delicacy: Rockfish.

Photo of White House Creek in the Northern Neck of VA. This body of water is the artist’s muse, as she paints light on water.

Twilight on White House Creek, looking towards the Corrotoman River. Two weeks after moving from Santa Fe.

That was what I experienced in the middle of September 2013. Life in two completely different environments in just a matter of days. I’ll never forget sitting on that dock with my husband and remarking on how peaceful and quiet everything seemed to be, compared to what we had just left behind. (Which was so devastating to see; afterall, it had been my home for the past two years and I really loved living there.)

And here I was, marvelling at the water. Little did I know that in a matter of a couple of weeks, the water would become even more intriguing and mesmerizing, and would totally ignite my imagination.

One morning, while sitting at breakfast, I noticed something beautiful out on the creek, visible from our breakfast table. There were all these highlights on the water, “dancing” about. The kinetic movement they made, coupled with the patterns created on the water by the current and the wind, made for an ever changing light show. It was hard to take my eyes off of it.

Then I noticed that these little “dancing diamonds,” as I nicknamed them, were showing up most every day. I found myself wondering: Why are they so prevalent now? As I pondered that, I decided that I was going to do a painting of these glittery highlights on the water and chose to work in acrylics. After all, it is a water-based medium. That just made a whole lot of sense to me.

I knew it would be impossible to paint something like that on site. The continuous movement of the water and the constantly changing surface patterns of the dancing diamonds would only frustrate me. And it would be risky to look at them long-term. Bad for the eyes. The solution would be to photograph what I saw and capture a particular moment in time. I was not interested in the sky, the horizon, reflections of trees in the water, or anything else. I wanted to reduce everything down to just the water and the “dancing diamonds.” So I got out my camera and started shooting pictures and came away with some good photographic jumping off points.

So I went to the easel and did a painting. It was basically just lines and circles, overtop color. The lines made up the water. The circles became the highlights on the water. It was interesting to think that this was all it boiled down to; circles and lines. I thought abut computers operating in binary, in zeros and ones, and then I had an "aha" moment. I came to the realization that Mother Nature has her own "code."

Against a background of water, seen from below the surface, three rows of zeroes and ones make up Mother Nature’s own code.

My idea of an example of Mother Nature's "code." Imagine waves as a line (I) and the highlights on top of the water, which are technically tiny reflections of the sun, as small circles. (0)

I liked the way my Dancing Diamonds painting turned out. So I decided I would do a series of them. 12, which then grew to a baker’s dozen: 13.

I have since learned that dancing diamonds are also known as sun glitter or sun glint. I’ve learned that the color and length of dancing diamonds depend on the altitude of the Sun. And that the dancing diamonds come to the creek in the fall, stick around until the spring, then they seem to fade off (like the bufflehead ducks that arrive in the fall from the Arctic, spend their winters here, then disappear in March.) It’s all dependent upon the Earth’s (and the creek’s) relationship to the Sun, at a particular time of the day, at a particular time of year.

Dancing diamonds, or sun glitter, are formed when sunlight reflects from waves or ripples (also known as cat's paws) on the water, which are created by the current, wind, birds, or other critters in the water.

Waves, or ripples, reflect the sun at different angles from multiple spots on the surface of the wave or ripple, creating single points of light.

So all the highlights you see on the water are many small images of the sun, formed by portions of the ripples, or waves, that are exactly in the right location to reflect the sun’s light towards your eyes.

An illustration teaches the reader how the sun creates dancing diamonds on top of the water, based on scientific principles.

This illustration is adapted from an article: "Glittering Light on Water" by Joseph A. Shaw, of the NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.) It shows the sun's reflection on multiple spots on the water's surface. When the wind creates ripples that move across the water, it causes the dancing diamonds to dance. Clusters of dancing diamonds can create ever-changing patterns and shapes; all dependent on how rough the wind and water is, and your vantage point.

The exact pattern of light that you see depends upon your precise location. So for instance, I may see something from a certain spot on a hill, and want to move closer to shoot it, but once I move down the hill, the whole pattern of light changes or some of it may even disappear. When I step back to that same spot on the hill that overlooks the water, I may see it all again, but more often than not, since the waves are moving and the wind is often blowing, the patterns and clusters of dancing diamonds have moved and changed into something different.

One thing I have also noticed: dancing diamonds can be seen on blue water, when the water is grey, on a day where the sun can peek through the clouds, even during the full moon at night. But I don’t see them very often when the water is green.

I've been painting Dancing Diamonds paintings for a few years now and am still in the process of completing my series. It takes me a while to do a painting, since it can be meticulous work. The water part is usually looser and more expressive. The dancing diamonds are more time consuming; rendering each little reflection of the sun is more of a meditative practice.

The dancing diamonds are beginning to wane, as I write this. But I look forward, with much creative anticipation, to their return in the autumn.