Just Finished: Painting Half Dome, Remembering the Climb

Just finished—a realistic take on Half Dome in Yosemite Valley with the granite is catching the afternoon light just right. This face holds a special meaning in my soul, which is why I’ve spent so much time staying true to the place—its form, its light, its presence.

Earlier in life, I lived on the 2,000-foot Northwest Face of Half Dome for two days. Slowly climbing it, always moving up hanging on little nothings. It was one of those rare trips where everything aligned: perfect weather, a solid headspace, a good partner—and the job of leading the entire route. After a wonderful, and very adventurous, first day we bivvied on Big Sandy Ledge, Big was relative on that face. it could have been called small narrow ledges 1000 feet up. and there wasn't much sand, or a big woman named Sandy. . high above the valley floor, surrounded by immense air and silence. I remember thinking how vast it all felt. The famous Thank God Ledge was another Big sandy moment I thought it would be a wide, easy stroll, ledge narrow bulges out if i go further a swan dive—was more nerve-wracking than we expected.

When we climbed it, many of the original bolts from the 1957 first ascent were still in place. They looked like relics from another era, and it was strangely satisfying to clip into them. Later that year, they were replaced. At the time, it felt like we were touching history—completely immersed in one of the most majestic places on earth.

As we neared the top, we began to hear voices—hikers on the summit, part of a different world entirely. Some looked over the edge and called us crazy. We thought the same of them. A couple hundred feet from the top, a voice shouted down, “Is there anyone down there?” I yelled back that we were. He said his friend was about to throw his father’s ashes over the edge. I shouted again—louder this time—that we were still on the wall. Moments later, a brown paper bag, streaming ashes, floated out above us. Luckily, the wind carried it away.

When we finally topped out, it felt like landing on another planet. All those people, walking around in a completely different reality.

This painting is my way of going back.

Over the years, I’ve painted many imagined landscapes—fabrications of memory and emotion more than place. But sometimes I return to something real, something grounded in lived experience. This Half Dome piece isn’t just about granite or scenery. It’s about the quiet of the Valley in early morning, the aching beauty of effort, and the feeling of standing on top of the world—tired, sunburned, and completely alive.

As I near the final touches, I find myself reconnecting with that younger version of me—the climber who found peace in risk, who felt more at home hanging from a rope 2,000 feet up than walking city streets. That spirit still lives here in the studio. And this painting is proof.

—Tom