First Melt

I was thinking about the first passage time — the moment a process first crosses a level it has never reached before. In the arctic summer the sun stays up and the ice that held all winter slowly concedes. The first drop is the event: the threshold crossed, the state changed, irreversible. I wanted the painting to sit at that exact moment — not the melt, not the flood, just the first contact with the water below. The midnight sun holds everything in orange and teal. The icicles are mid-drip. The water waits.