“The light changed,”
is a ridiculous complaint anywhere, but nowhere more so than on the sea.
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| Somewhere in Eggemoggin Reach, as the rain cleared off. (All images by and reserved by Carol L. Douglas) |
My intent in going out on the American Eagle
wasn’t to paint. I planned to relax, talk to new people, listen to Captain
John Foss’ hoary jokes, and read. At the last minute, I slipped my
watercolors in my duffel bag and made it a busman’s holiday.
Not only did I have a good time, so did several other people who tried out my
paints.
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| An oil painting from the deck, during last summer's venture. |
Last June I painted in oils from this boat. I had fun but was
an obstacle to the crew and captain. Even my small easel took up too much space
along the main cabin. I was constantly grabbing it to prevent it flying into
the sea. American Eagle is a
highly-polished, much-loved vessel. I worried that I would accidentally stain
her deck with some brilliant pigment that would forever rankle the captain.
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| Dinghy in Bass Harbor. |
Watercolor simplified things. It meant I could work on a
board on my lap, it’s a smaller kit, and it’s faster. My mistakes would wash away.
The passing ocean scene provides limited composition
options. You can put the horizon high, low or in the middle. Short of the occasional porpoise, grey seal, or
lobster boat, there isn’t much happening to break it. That hard, unbroken line is, in some ways,
the essence of the subject. I had to learn to love it.
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| Browns Head Lighthouse. |
I used sea-water, which is something I learned from Poppy Balser. It causes the paint to
granulate slightly as it dries, similarly to sprinkling salt on select passages. I had
a bucket and therefore all the salt water I needed. I did wash my
brushes in fresh water at night, to preserve the ferrules.
I tend to splash things around with great abandon however I
paint. These usual slovenly habits got in my way on this trip. The bright sun
was deceptive. On the ocean, in the middle of October, my paper took a very
long time to dry. I filled the time as best I could by messing around. Still I occasionally misjudged my surfaces.
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| Exiting Stonington. |
The sea is ultimately a reduction to two elements: water and
air. Even out of sight of land, the view is different in every direction. The
sky changes and the water changes. To paint this is anything but simple. In
moments the sea can go from molten silver to deepest green, and you can do
nothing but follow obediently along. “The light changed,” is a ridiculous
complaint anywhere, but nowhere more so than on the sea.
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| Looking home toward Beech Hill. |
On our last day out, Captain John Foss turned over the wheel
to Sam
Sikkema, who captains the Picton Castle out of Lunenburg, NS, in her
trans-Atlantic training trips. I was sketching Beech Hill at the time and a new
friend, Lee Auchincloss of Navigator Publishing, was painting the Camden Hills.
Sam let out the old Eagle’s
stays. Suddenly, the rail was low and my subject obscured. But I’m hardly complaining.
It was a fleet finish to a beautiful week. Now, it’s back to work for all of us.
