Morning Ride In Oak Bluffs

When I painted Morning Ride in Oak Bluffs, I wasn't just remembering a place—I was embodying a memory, a spirit, a whole way of being. Years ago, when I owned Rising Sun Ranch in Oak Bluffs, mornings on horseback by the ocean were my living prayer. The sound of the waves, the strength of the horse beneath me, the wild kiss of salt air against my skin—it all made me feel vividly alive, connected to the earth, the water, the ancestors who rode before me.

 In this painting, I wove the strands of my African American and Native American heritage into the rider’s flowing hair, the freedom in her posture, the sunrise that seems to rise from within her as much as from the horizon. Even though the ranch is no longer mine, that essence—that sacred fusion of motion, water, and spirit—still gallops strong inside me.

Painting her was like painting my soul at full stride, unburdened, sovereign, endless. She is both who I was and who I still am. Each brushstroke carries the memory of hooves splashing through shallow surf, of quiet mornings when the world felt vast and welcoming. I needed to honor that living memory—to give it back to the world as a kind of offering. Morning Ride in Oak Bluffs is not just a portrait; it is a remembrance, a reclamation, and a celebration of the spirit that refuses to be fenced in.

Where the Tide Remembers Her

The morning does not begin
until she breathes it into her horse’s mane,
until the sky unfurls its first glorious colors
to keep pace with the thundering rhythm
of something older than language.

She rides where the tide forgets the land,
where hoof and salt water collide into songs,
where every wave remembers
the woman whose soul carries rivers and stars,
whose laughter lifts like wings over foam.

There are no reins in her hands,
only the conversation of motion,
the unwritten treaty between nature and wonder,
the ancient agreement to trust the way
the earth speaks through the soles of your feet.

Each stride cracks open the world a little wider—
the ocean, the sky, the memories braided in her hair—
all of it rising, endless,
a ceremony of flight
that refuses to end at the shoreline.

Even when the ranch is just a ghost in the dunes,
even when only paintings tell the story,
she rides still—
in the marrow of the morning,
in the bright, breathing salt of her dreams.

Prices are in USD $

12in x 9in
16in x 12in
20in x 15in
24in x 18in
30in x 22in

12in x 9in
16in x 12in
20in x 15in
24in x 18in
30in x 22in

12in x 9in
16in x 12in
20in x 15in
24in x 18in
30in x 22in

12in x 9in
16in x 12in
20in x 15in
24in x 18in
30in x 22in

12in x 9in
16in x 12in
20in x 15in
24in x 18in
30in x 22in

12in x 9in
16in x 12in
20in x 15in
24in x 18in
30in x 22in

12in x 9in
16in x 12in
20in x 15in
24in x 18in
30in x 22in

12in x 9in
16in x 12in
20in x 15in
24in x 18in
30in x 22in

12in x 9in
16in x 12in
20in x 15in
24in x 18in
30in x 22in