By Callum 
She took the sky in her brushes, breaking it into waves of color—splashes of red, orange, yellow, floating fragments of flame around a circle, a planet seen from above.
In 1970, Alma Thomas painted what astronauts saw: Earth rising, a globe wrapped in sunset’s glow. Only Thomas did it differently—no black voids of space, no sharp contrasts. Her world pulses with warmth. Round and radiant. Color executing motion.
The “Snoopy” series—named for the Apollo 10 lunar module—was her way of looking back at Earth through the void, celebrating not distance but closeness. The planet becomes an aura of delight rather than sorrow.
Each stroke matters: the fire-red broken tiles, the folds of glowing yellow, the soft glows where colors collide. The circle sits in the center, comforting, alive. The sunset wraps around it, not threatening—but enveloping, protective, beautiful.
In this canvas, we see hope. We see the fragile sphere that sustains us. We see color reclaiming darkness. We see that even in cosmic distance, Earth remains a palette of life and light.