“Thanks to a perfect alignment of the stars, my wife and I happened to be in Hawaii when Kīlauea erupted for the seventh time since late last year,” says Washington pastel artist Steven Hill. “We got to the lookout early and claimed a prime spot near the steam vents along the crater rim in Hawai‘i Volcanoes National Park. A 12-ton boulder — roughly the size of a Volkswagen van — sat beside the trail, hurled there by an earlier eruption. With steam rising at my feet and signs everywhere warning, ‘Caution! Watch for sudden fissures and cracks in the earth’s surface,’ it was the most dramatic, dangerous, and exhilarating place I’ve ever painted.
“During the short time we were there, I completed two of my best plein air works — and made a new friend: a red-haired girl with a Polaroid camera. I asked if she wanted to be an artist, too. Flashing a sly smile, she replied, ‘I already am.’ Then, with a theatrical flourish, she pulled a black-and-white photo of my painting from her camera and handed it to me.
“At that moment, the volcano fell quiet. For days after, only gentle steam drifted from its depths — as if Pele herself, the goddess of fire and volcanoes revered for her creative power, had spoken.”
