Winslow Homer painted Maine's rocky coast obsessively in his final decades, capturing the raw power of nature. For ordinary Americans without means to travel, such images offered windows into wild, untamed places—a romantic counterpoint to industrial life.
You stand on damp rocks as the squall rolls in. The sky darkens to bruised purple. Waves crash and spray, the air tastes of salt, and you feel small against the ocean's indifference. For a moment, nothing else matters but this storm and your own breath.
Reflect
When do you seek out wild nature—and what do you hope to feel or escape when you do?