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| Copyright: Charles F. Bofinger 2010 |
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| All Decked Out An early-morning swim in the Atlantic at the Jersey shore: bracing, invigorating, satisfying. The perfect way to begin the day. Next: a shower, breakfast and onto the deck to hang the dampened beach towel on the railing to dry, then relax in the captain’s chair to read the morning paper. Life doesn’t get any better… |
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| After the Big Storm How quickly we forget the brute force of Nature until, one day, she unexpectedly turns on us as if to remind us of our frailty. Here the artist captures all that remains of a large, sturdy bulkhead that stood against the tides more than fifty feet from where the detritus was deposited, now awaiting removal. |
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| Beach Bound How irresistible the tug of the tides which, like some strange, atavistic force, pulls us to the beach time and time again. To look for what? We walk as if in search, our footprints fading back into the wet sands, impressions lost forever. We look, and we find nothing but ourselves. Perhaps that is why we go. |
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| Beach Reflections The salty wind is up, laden with moisture and blowing in from the sea. The Cats are ready, sails hoisted and booms tied against the breeze. All are pointed seaward, as if ready to leap into the waves and start the race by themselves if the crews don’t show up soon. “Man your boats — before it’s too late!" |
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| Before the Storm A dramatic change of mood over the beach of Stone Harbor as the sun shines brightly before surrendering to the powerful purple clouds about to swallow it. Shadows stretch across the beach, as if pointing homeward in a silent gesture of warning. The dune grass glistens in the last of the hot light before the storm hits. |
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| City Hall Tower Started in 1871, it took almost four decades to build. It is the largest municipal building in the country, larger than the US capitol. It contains 88,3300,000 bricks. Inside it has 14.5 acres of space, with more than 650 rooms. Walt Whitman, seeing it at night, called it “A majestic and lovely show there in the moonlight…silent, weird, beautiful. |
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| Dawn Patrol Early dawn breaks to reveal a grey mist on the sea’s face as the artist patrols the solitary sands of the New Jersey beach, everything softened by the silent fog. Look closely: there is a muted yellow spot in the distance, a promise of the day to come. The empty lifeboat and the two vacant lifeguard chairs accentuate the peaceful quiet. |
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| Down to the Sea The southern tip of Cape May, a short drive from the artist’s home in Stone Harbor. Here a collection of textures and sensations to enjoy: the dry dune grass, the weather-worn walkway, crooked with age, accompanied by the sun-bleached fence as it meanders down toward the water where, in one last lift at the end, it salutes the sea. |
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| East by Southeast The sun rides high, the shadows are short, as we walk toward the beach where meddlesome man has done his best to resist the vagaries of nature by rip-rapping the sand dunes in front. The wind is cooling, coming from the sea, where it has cleaned the air of clouds and left only a soft, summer mist hanging over the horizon. |
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| Four Way Scramble This is when the tension builds, as the race develops and the four faster boats pull ahead, leaving the laggards behind. But only three can win a prize, and only one can come in first. The crews’ every muscle strains as if to coax the hulls along a little faster through the white-capped waves. The winner is… |
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| Heart of the City City Hall, built in the 19th century, is Philadelphia’s hub. Thousands visit the largest, tallest, and most expensive city hall in the country. The artist captures the massive scope of the pillars and 22-foot-thick walls that support the structure as the locals walk by, scarcely aware of the monument that towers above them. |
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| Mr.Hershey’s Garden Just behind the landmark Hershey Hotel awaits the Garden, a tribute to Milton Hershey who founded the famous, eponymous school where the artist enjoyed seven happy years. Clean brick paths lead the way through the gaily colored flowers, the reflecting pools that multiply the views, to the classic rotunda, all visual delights. |
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| House on the Dunes Looking inland from the beach, it’s hard not to compare the ever-changing sands, scattered beach grasses and weathered remnants of the fence, partially reclaimed by nature, with the permanent comfort and security of the house behind. The best of both worlds: the raw elements during the day, the soft comforts of home at night. |
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| Lake View Early autumn in the cool, quiet solitude of a favorite mountain lake, as the artist tells the passing season by the slow, steady evolution of the colors in the leaves. No murmur of voices, no harsh sounds of traffic, no interruptive music. Just a few precious moments of the world as it was meant to be. Shhhhh… |
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| Path Well Traveled One of the most traveled paths on the Jersey shore leads to the beach at Avalon. Like so much in life, it is used as a means to an end, quickly forgotten. Yet the journey can be as important as the destination, something we forget as we wish the week away to reach the weekend, not realizing that time is life’s irreplaceable commodity. |
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| Ready to Race Nine twin-hulled catamarans ready to set sail for the charted course and the thrill of the race on a clear day at the shore. No motors, no sounds of the modern world, just the comforting slap of the waves on the hulls and the cooling sensation of the spindrift. While first place will fall to only one of the cats, in this race everybody wins. |
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| Reflections Back from several hours running before the wind, the three captains reflect on the sensations of skippering the speedy, lightweight cats on the ever-moving, ever-changing sea. The light from the summer sun, now obscured by the grey mist, softens until it can no longer cast shadows, accentuating the reflections of the day. |
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| Shadows on the Sand Mid-morning on the way to the beach for a day’s relaxation. The wind is up, already erasing the footprints of the morning travelers over the path. The old fence, painted the weathered grey that only nature can mix, sends long shadows inland, like wise old fingers indicating the way home once one tires of the sun, wind and sand. |
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| Sunshine a la Carte A weathered wooden handcart parked by the wall of an antique shop brims over with flowers in riotous color. One can feel the warmth of the early sun, penetrating the cool morning. The geraniums are in full bloom, the ripe reds in happy contrast with the deep green leaves. Who brought them here? And does it really matter? |
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| Tide Pool High tide was hours ago, revealed by the shrinking pool leaving wet, grey edges disappearing in the sun. A child’s playful leap into the pool is welcome, since the water has the warmth of a mother’s skin. Beyond lies the sea, a cooler, bluer reminder of the vastness of one of nature’s great mysteries, underlining our insignificance. |
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| Time Out The morning sail is over, the twin-hulled cats pulled safely back onto the beach and turned to look out to sea, ready for the afternoon’s adventure. Time for a welcome break, some easy conversation, perhaps a bite of picnic lunch on the blanket followed by a brief snooze, then back into the water. Time out’s over! |
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| View from Ben Franklin Bridge The graceful arc of the Bridge guides the viewer’s eye over the darkly flowing Delaware, into the inviting skyline of Philadelphia. The few clouds absorb the bright colors of the night, while the white lights from the buildings extend many paths of welcome across the river, beckoning the viewer to come…come...and enjoy. |
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| Wintertime Shadows Not a trace of man on the wind-smoothed sands of the wintry beach as the sun lowers into the western sky, presaging the end of another day. No bright towels, gaily striped umbrellas, children’s toys. Just the muted greys and beiges, with the buffs of the grasses, the limited palette of the season. Now the beach belongs to the artist alone. |
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| Eastbound Gull Many have watched it, but few have seen the landing of a seagull with the eye of the artist. Notice the long wings outstretched and angled forward to catch the wind and create a soft cushion of air as the gull nears earth and gravity overcomes flight, as the delicate, almost oriental legs reach out to touch down and trot to a halt. |
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| Five Gulls Anxiously darting about overhead is a screech of seagulls, white against the cloudless, dark blue summer sky. What pulls them so forcefully? Some whitebait swimming close to the surface of the sea? A fishing trawler headed home with the day’s catch on the back deck? The sharp, stabbing sound of their cries fills the air… |
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| Happy Gulls Six happy, highly stylized seagulls head west with a prize in the hooked beak of the leader, overlapping one another in the excitement of the journey. Where have they been? What have they been doing? Where are they going? We may never know, but the pastel joy infused into each individual gull is contagious, and we feel it. |
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| Seven Up The glory of the serigraph as an art form is found in its simplicity, which is precisely what makes it such a difficult art to dominate. The artist, who does, shows us a convoy of seven symbolic seagulls flying eastward in tight formation. We hear the cacophony of their cries, feel the motion of their wings, and take flight with them. |
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| Start of the Race The surf is up, and the blown spume at the top of the waves sends a chilly sensation of the sea as it sprays against the bodies of the six crews, who tighten the sails against the wind to gain a fraction of a knot of speed. Still grouped together, the more skillful sailors will soon pull ahead as they race toward the finish line. |
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| Sunrise Gull The magic of flight in the early hours as a lone seagull rides the wind against the warm morning sun, which casts dark shadows under the long, curved wings. Not hot yet, but the colors in the sun betray high temperatures for most of the summer day. Beneath the bird, just out of sight, lies the cooling blue water of the ocean. |
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| Watermelons What child’s happy memories of seemingly endless summers do not include the cool, sweet, sticky pleasure of biting into a fresh watermelon, spitting out the black seeds in an odd kind of target practice, then eating the red flesh down to the hard white rind before asking for yet another piece… |
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| Time to Reflect Bayside at the Jersey shore. The winds of morning have calmed. The few clouds that carry the eye to the horizon seem fixed in place. The marsh grasses stand silent. Whose boat is that? What happy children have learned of the salty waters from time spent aboard. Consider the joy of being alive…and being there. |
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