The Surfboard Crab Still Waits: A Painting That Refused to Stay Finished

One of the paintings I rescued from the closet was already halfway to being something. The water was in place. The sand was in place. And that was it—no sky, no subject, just a quiet standoff between shoreline and sea.

I must have lost interest somewhere along the way. Or maybe it lost interest in me.

But when I pulled it back out, it didn’t feel finished. It felt patient.

So, I started with the sky. Not the kind that behaves, either. This one moves. It shifts. It carries color like it has somewhere to be. The sun followed naturally stretching itself out in long, reaching rays, as if it had been waiting just behind the canvas for permission. And to finish them, each ray needed its own small markings, tiny designs drifting downward, like pieces of color that couldn’t quite stay in place.

Then came the crabs.

Beginning the reimagined painting.

The crabs creep in one by one.

The taunting crabs wanting, demanding, me to complete the painting.

I hadn’t painted sand crabs in years, which made them feel like the right kind of idea. They showed up one at a time, first teal, then purple, then orange, then red, then blue, then pink… and finally one brown crab, just to keep things honest.

They settled along the sand, all of them turned the same direction, as if they knew something I didn’t.

Which meant, of course, there had to be something to look at.

Out in the distance, just beyond where the water deepens into its own kind of blue, a single surfboard crab waits, steady, unhurried, watching for a wave that hasn’t arrived yet.

The tiny crabs demand details. I have painted, painted over, and repainted, trying to get them “right.” I remember now why sometimes

I get frustrated with paintings and toss them in the closet. There’s a point where they stop feeling like they’re coming together and start feeling like they’re arguing back.

I must confess this surfboard crab painting has made me consider tossing it back in there a time or two.

But I keep coming back to it.

Because even when it resists, it still feels like the crabs are out there sidestepping their way into taunting me to stick with it. And apparently, I’m listening. (Hopefully Matt isn’t taking notes from them.)

The surfboard crab still waits out there, watching the water like it knows something I don’t.

Thanks for reading The 3rd Flamingo—a blog for art lovers, creative wanderers, and anyone who’s ever made a beautiful mess.