During an evening swim through big, slow swells, I floated on my back and peered across at San Francisco; the sun was sink­ing directly behind the city. All I could see was the water — dark, nearly black, the way it gets at that time of day — and the scal­loped top of the city’s sil­hou­ette, like a float­ing citadel. Atlantean, in that light.

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Magritte's work feels like permission to get weird, to surrender to fantasy, to wear fewer clothes—or no clothes at all—to experiment, flirt, be curious, and get a little unhinged. It is a time to mingle with the mythical creatures that exist in perpetual summer, unicorns and nymphs endlessly trapped in a lush dreamscape. And doesn't summer always... See more