Hello Bloggerfolk!
I'm back again, fresh from the airport, a bit more tan, a lot more tired, and very glad to be home, or at least some semblance of it. My nomadic summer continues, having spent the most recent stint of it in the bays around the island of St. John! Inspired by our previous trip to the southern seas, my dad and I decided again to go sailing. Only this time, the boat was significantly bigger, the bathrooms were slightly less scary, and the crew was made of old high school friends (both my dad's and one of my own!) It was my big hurrah to celebrate having finished four years of college and being 99% graduated (I shake my fist angrily at my remaining summer credits). And before you get too jealous, I'll have you know that I was covered in sunscreen most of the time (icky), had a major case of sea legs (wobbly), and got stranded at least once (more on that below). But I'm not gonna lie - it was a great trip and a major blessing. Getting to swim in blue water under jungle hills dotted with pirate-era ruins is pretty much how I’d want to spend any summer ever. Sailing is a lot like camping, in that there's danger and uncomfort which is then traded to experience a beautiful place about as closely as you can. Unless you have a 5-mil+ yacht. But I don't think that will be happening for me anytime soon.
I promised art in my last post, and did my best to deliver. But it wasn't as straightforward as I had hoped. Drawing while on this trip was surprisingly difficult, as my drawing process typically includes two things: lots of reference, and lots of time. And I didn't have much of either on this trip. With limited cell service, I was cut off from the illustrations and art styles I often reference while drawing. All I was left with was the scenery, my natural instincts, and what I could remember. Which perhaps is a good look into where I'm actually at artistically, when I'm not borrowing tools from and measuring myself against other illustrators. But the perfectionist side of me was never really happy with how the pictures were turning out, which made me even more disappointed in the amount of time it was taking to draw them.
Drawing is fairly isolating - working on my iPad meant I was out of the sun and away from the fun for extended periods of time, and I began to feel like I was missing out on the trip in the same way that a tourist misses out on his when he's too focused on taking photos. In fact, drawing often fills that same desire for me as photos do for the tourist: the desire to take some part of the place you're visiting back with you. But in doing so, you miss out on actually experiencing the place firsthand. There was a distinct point on the trip when I was struggling to draw some dang shoreline because I didn't have the time or reference to really nail it, while my friends were out swimming with freaking sea turtles and I thought what am I doing??? is having a nice picture really worth missing out on that? So I ditched art for the rest of the trip, swam with two sea turtles, and it was wonderful.
Before I had that "screw it" moment, I did get in two pictures that I liked, both done in a polygonal style based on my memories of Laura Bifano's work, which I recently discovered and really like. It's a novel, very digital approach to landscape painting, but for some reason, it was the only style that really felt natural at the time. I'm also including the shoreline that caused the epiphany because if I can't feel comfortable sharing bad art here, then I won't anywhere.
We had a few close shaves, mostly due to the assumption that “we wouldn’t ever run out of gas for the dinghy boat.” (small boat that gets you from the bigger boat to the shore) And that assumption was put most strongly to the test one night when we decided to dinghy 20 minutes across the bay with a more than full passenger load just in the hopes of a seafood dinner. Instead of a seafood dinner, we were greeted with no easy place to park (and for some reason we settled on the smelliest part of the whole harbor to disembark), no seafood (the only place nearby was a hamburger place where we waited literally two hours for food), and barely any gas (as this was the only harbor that had no gas station). By the time we were leaving, the sun had more than set, we were pretty much out of gas, and we still had a 20 minute drive back, against current, in the dark. Dad and I were pounded by the oncoming swells as we pondered what to do in the very real possibility of running out of gas, wrecking on shore, or any number of unsavory outcomes. Thankfully, those outcomes remained hypothetical and were able to make it back. But when the dinghy ran out of gas the next day, stranding us on an entirely different island, we realized just how close we had been to a legitimately dangerous situation. (shoutout to the Alabama guys who got us off that other island).
