Trip Report April 21-26/27

Thursday morning started with an email from SEA World Headquarters saying something had happened in the Seaman’s rig and it needed attention. We would still gather at 2:00 pm on the ship, and stay aboard until something became clear. I also got a phone call to make certain I had read my email, and they were still expecting me.

Participants straggled onto the dock, and onto the Seaman’s deck between 1400 and 1500 hr. After rapid covid tests to ascertain we were healthy, we were allowed to take our gear below and stow things. We mustered (there were a lot of bad puns about mustered on the quarterdeck, and relish the moments and take time to ketchup) and heard the actual news. The tang where the forestay attaches to the foremast had a large crack in it, and it needed to be cut out, replaced, and certified fixed by the Coast Guard. The hope was that it could be done in two or three days, leaving us some time to actually set sail. The worst case was that we’d be dockside for the “trip” and figure out other things to do. 

The participants were a mixed lot. We had a couple guys from the earliest days of the program in 1972, then me, then a handful of people from later on with the old ship and some from the newer ones. In my bunk alley I had someone who sailed in 1980 and did microbiology, and a guy from the early 2000’s who had been a student and then deckhand and asst engineer, and graduated to work at Space-X doing non-destructive testing. He wound up being a great resource for the people looking at how the tang came to be cracked. Everyone had a fascinating backstory, it was pretty cool. 

We spent a long day Friday doing basic stooging about and orientation things, and also spending a lot of time staring up at the guys trying to drive the cherry-picker so they could reach the rig. Towards afternoon, there were tours of the lab, the engine room, and a talk on current and proposed programs for students. Seeing the newer technology fitted into a purpose built lab was delightful after my memory of being wedged into a corner of an after-thought deck house with everything sloshing about. The engine room was an enormous maze that existed under the sole of most of the living space – there were two generators, a main engine, an auxiliary engine, a watermaker/desalinator and some additional bilge pumps. It was not a quiet ship! The generator was always going, driving fans and ventilation and also the fridge (for some reason called a reefer on a ship), freezer and hardware in the lab. 

Saturday morning it became clear that the repairs would not be accomplished before we were due to leave the ship. At that point, participants began seeping away if they had other places they could go, or things they wanted to do. I wanted to stay on the ship, in part because I like staying on ships, and in part because the community was compelling. The trip was declared a Port Stop, a very loose watch schedule was established, with no assumption that participants needed to be awake if they chose not to, and Monica was named Cruise Director in charge of Amusements. A handful of vans were rented to take people indifferent directions, and many plans were laid.

I went first to the Bishop museum, a curious place with Victorian era collections bearing a more recent gloss of multiculturalism and a valiant attempt to talk more about how the island had functioned before being colonized. There was also a paper mache whale, with the skeleton visible from the near side, and a bunch of very dusty and moth-eaten birds hanging in the center of the larger Hawaiian Hall. The part I found most engaging was the special exhibit of Polynesian tattoo art, including some of the families that had practiced for centuries and the patterns they had developed and handed down. 

We ended the day with a glorious sunset, shown above.

Sunday was declared a free day for everyone. Crew organized themselves into two vans and went one one direction, participants organized themselves into two vehicles and went another direction. We stopped in Hale-Iwa for smoothies and to admire a bridge. We then went further north along the coast to Shark Cove, which was actually an extremely large tide pool, roughly waist deep, filled with tourists snorkeling for the first time, and about fifteen fish; one very large blue/silver one, four smaller yellow, white and black stripy guys and a small flock of thumb sized silver ones. Mostly what one saw underwater were people’s legs, or other people snorkling towards you. Every couple of minutes, a large wave would break over the rock reef along the outside edge of the pool, and it would look like waterfalls, cascading in. A food truck lunch was delicious, the fish tacos spectacular, but also utterly unlike Capt. Jack’s. 

In the afternoon we travelled a little farther north to see the Pipeline, a classic big wave beach where we watched surfers. We were forbidden to go in the water there because it was frequently so hazardous, but we found out later that surf season and whale season overlap and both were finishing up. 

A pair of brothers who had left the ship the night before had found a small boat for an evening sail, and I managed to tag onto them. Saturday afternoon found us on a 40’ trimaran captained by a very well travelled individual who had grown up in Marion, Mass, and sailed back and forth across the Pacific in this boat and also all through Polynesia. The first thing he said was that he’d almost bought Westward, which brought a roar of amusement from all of us, and we spent the trip swapping stories about boats and sailing and captains and ports – just that connection would have made it a very fine sail, but we also had perfect weather and saw whales and a flying fish and an albatross and a red footed booby and a shearwater and a sunset. The whales were humpbacks, here for calving and then back to northern waters to bulk up again. The capt and his crew had recorded some of the whale “songs” and were playing them for us, identifying different voices. One was a baby, babbling… there would be some adult warbling and the babby would sing “woo-hoo!” and this repeated a couple times, getting funnier each time. We finished the evening at a moderately fancy restaurant, and discovered the waiter knew Captain Porter, and more stories ensued. That was a very good day. It fulfilled my internal requirement that I spend some time ON the Pacific ocean as well as in the shallows of it, and we did sail, and sail happily.

Unfortunately the all the sun on Sunday gave me a migraine Monday, so I stayed on the ship and ghosted about, thinking about quiet things. The metal fabricators came and cut off the tang with the crack, a very heavy-duty piece of metal. I did help with the provisioning – a Sysco truck arrived with boxes of things to be refrigerated, and we lined up and got them onto the ship, out of their cardboard and into the reefer as quickly as possible. I put some paint on canvas, and stared at the water, the port and the idea of ships resting before heading out to sea. We finished Monday night with dinner for everyone at a local restaurant, hosted by SEA. We ate like kings, and were riotously funny. I skipped out a little earlier, with some of the crew, and slept early. T

One of the best things I did while I was on the ship was sign up to stand a watch. At dock, everyone takes a single hour watch, to keep people off the ship, and do a boat check. Boat check is exactly what it sounds like. A trip up and down the decks, checking on dock lines for chafe, making sure the anchors are still there, that there’s no fuel in the cofferdam, the lab cooling is working and nothing is leaking or spilling water or fuel or noxious chemicals on the deck. Then below to check for leaks in the heads and showers, make sure everything is turned off in the galley, no extra water in the bilge, especially in drystores. Finally the engine room, checking on the outputs from the generator, temperatures for anything running, water in these bilges, and that the watermaker is running properly. I signed up for the 1-2am hour each night, and got a chance to stumble about the ship in an official fashion. Even better, I got a chance to visit quietly with a different member of the crew each night. It is a good hour for just talking, and I felt grateful to these people for letting me share their time. They said they were pleased to have company. The watches were some of my favorite moments. 

Tuesday we were fed breakfast, thanked and sent ashore. Some of us didn’t have places to be until later in the day, so we were allowed to leave our gear on the ship. I explored a little bit of the terrain around the docks – a very different part of Honolulu than Waikiki! – and was invited to lunch with Peg Brandon, current SEA president but also past captain, past head of marine operations and also for a different interim, head of Maine Maritime, and the two oldest past students. We had a funny lunch talking about Westward, and how things had changed just from the very first trip with Cory Cramer to the time I went, and later, Peg’s experiences as a student and then in charge. 

The last shuttle from the ship took me to the airport, and the rest is just complaining about flying these days. I had seven hours from Honolulu to Chicago (arriving at 6am) then a layover and my flight to Bradley, arriving at noon Wednesday. I slept that afternoon, slept most of Thursday, and managed to get up at a reasonably civilized hour Friday morning, whereupon I sat down to write all this. 

In short, it was a very good trip; even if nothing actually went as planned, nothing was as bad as I was dreading either. The participants were uniformly smart and interesting, the crew was delightful, the ship relatively comfortable, and the entire process was definitely an adventure.

Trip report – April 20

I applied zinc white to canvas this morning, in the form of paint lightening almost all the colors of the landscapes I am seeing. I might need to do a series on palm trees, because I am smitten with them. They are not trees, they are giant grasses with no sense of scale or dignity, designed by Dr Seuss. I am collecting photos for that project.

In the mid-afternoon I applied zinc white to my skin to keep from turning an unappealing and painful pink, and I dipped myself in the Pacific. It was lovely.

I met up with another person on the SEA trip for supper – John Page – from W4. I am (now) officially not the oldest or creakiest person on this trip, which feels like a stupid thing to be relieved about but I am. He’s a nice person, and we swapped stories over poke bowls before heading off in different directions for sleeping.

I join the ship tomorrow at 2 pm – and I don’t think I have email from then until the 26th. If I get to write a blog post, I’ll let someone know, I promise. And I will attempt to write down the high points of the trip, for one last email when I get back.

Trip Report – April 19

Today I took a trolley around the south end of the island and up the coast to Sea Life Park. This was a curious personal pilgrimage where several pieces of my past intersected.

In middle school, I gave up on lunch and went to the library, where I attempted to read my way through the fiction section alphabetically by author, starting with A. I got to W, and a book by Philip Wylie called The Spy who Spoke Porpoise which made an ENORMOUS impression on me. I reread it later, and all the parts that mattered most to me were about the park and that was a tiny sliver of the book itself, but a huge part of it took place at an unnamed sea life park outside Honolulu, of which there just are not that many. Like, one, exactly.

A couple years later I found a book by Karen Pryor called Lads Before the Wind which was about establishing Sea Life Park on Oahu in the early sixties, and how she learned to train dolphins, and also, incidentally, ponies, children, seals and sea lions… everything except otters. If you can find the book, I recommend it highly. It turns out Karen Pryor is Philip Wylie’s daughter, and he was visiting and so impressed with the training process he made it a central part of his spying book.

Karen Pryor went on to write a book for nursing mothers, (which I read when I was nursing because while it is natural it is not at all intuitive) and then about six different books on how to clicker train dogs and cats and horses, and all the other things. Her techniques have been used by every animal trainer who wants their animals to work with them and not against them. I used clicker training to teach one horse, in particular, to put her nose on something terrifying in return for a peppermint. I don’t know how many things she decided she could act worried about and then put her nose on for additional peppermints,  and I don’t care, because the process helped a lot with deeply terrifying things like mailboxes and trashcans.

So I went to Sea Life Park. It was kind of wild seeing it through the lens of these three older experiences. During each show for the public, the presenter talked about using operant training to teach the animals what they needed to know to be taken care of, and to keep from being too bored. It was fascinating to see how profoundly this philosophy was still embedded in the park, long after Pryor left. It was started in 1963, and is still going. Next to Sea World it is small, and quaint, and definitely runs on a shoestring, but it also has a lot in a small space, and a truly fabulous view  anytime you look out off the coast.

The taller, lumpy island visible off the coast is called Manana, which is also the name of a tall, lumpy island right next to Monhegan. I thought the parallel names thing was unexpected.

Trip Report – April 18

I found fresh fruit for breakfast. Accompanied by two waffles and some ice cream.

I am thinking I was looking very approachable, or very tired, or secretly wealthy, because I was accosted by a man with stunning cheekbones and no pores, and told I needed to use some under eye thing, (and called gorgeous, which was a trip) which was carefully applied only under one eye, so I could tell the difference later on. The nice (and also gorgeous) young lady applying the glue wanted to know what my “usual routine” was and when I told the absolute truth and replied “nothing, really” she asked “busy or lazy” (which I am still wrapping my head around?) and was so disconcerted by my telling her I did not care that they never once told me the cost of the secret solution, and let me amble out without further incident.

I took a sketchbook and a bathing suit to the beach, but I only used one. I couldn’t quite figure out the logistics of leaving something on the beach while I swam, even though I had a towel from the hotel, and also it was a very high tide (Hawai’i has tides! New Info!) So I attempted to sketch three views of Diamond Head, which is scenic, but also none of my colored pencils are the right color – they work for Maine!

A restaurant called Basalt provided dinner, preceded by charcoal colored? flavored? Hawaiian sweet rolls, which tasted no different. Also a gin thing with some jalapeno in it, and two appetizers with All The Flavors, including some Hot.

My mental map is broken. I am completely certain I am facing north, but the sun is in my eyes, or I finally suss out east, and the setting sun disagrees with me. This happens every time I sit down to figure out which way is, well, anything. The streets are fine, I can navigate my way from my hotel to most of the walkable things, but when I decide I have it figured out? I do not.

The moon is GORGEOUS. The ocean is a lovely and ridiculous color. The stars, in between the small puffy decorative clouds, are stunning, although they will be better at sea. There is a steady north-east wind, so it is a lovely temperature in the shade, and the palm trees rattle in a very tropical fashion. It feels very far away from everything else? and still utterly American, but also the proportion of non-white people makes it feel different – faintly foreign, or not entirely absorbed.

Trip Report – April 17

view from balcony

coming to you from 34,000 ft. Also maps are not the territory as I am reminded over and over again. I finally realized I could use the internet I bought for the longest (10 hours, plus or minus) leg of the trip and then when I was attempting to get google maps to work on my phone via moderately crappy wireless, I realized I could in fact use my laptop, and pop up a map of roughly where we were. I realized this about an hour ago, so I guessed at Lake Michigan (definitely correct), the Mississippi River (quite probably correct), and sundry other landmarks (mad guessing on my part, there are zero landmarks between Minnesota and Great Salt Lake), but I finally got smart when I thought we were near Great Salt Lake and I found it! And have been tracking our progress ever since. We basically followed Rt 80 west. I am hoping they have the course laid in for the trackless ocean, but they seem pretty confident so I have faith. We have gone clean over San Francisco and Oakland, and are headed into the blue, at 2:30 pm EDT. It is 8:30 am Hawaii time. I am suspended between the two and making no decisions except to drink more water.

My seat mate is silent and probably sleeping. the seats are vastly more comfortable than on the shorter hop to Dulles. I was deposited at the far end of the D gates, and I was hoping since I was headed to C4 that they would count down from the center, but in fact they counted down contiguously from Gate C1 to C30, and then D1 – 30. So I think I got my aerobics in making my connection. Next time, I pack less. All the meds, none of the clothes. Honestly – Hawaii = t-shirts and shorts, what was I thinking??

The captain challenged us to calculate the point in time that we were half way to Hawai’i, and I did a very nice set of Time, Rate, Distance calculations, then second guessed myself because the seat back display is in miles and the captain gave everything in nautical miles, but I think I came pretty close. (addenda: I was off by 6min 30 sec – the competition was FIERCE) In the adrenaline surge of getting half way, I kind of forgot there was another half to go. I’ll save this and add more later.

***********************************

From sea level, at 5:30pm local Honolulu time. I am not only in a completely different ocean, I am also completely turned around and very very tired.

I made it to the hotel, managed to wheedle a room from the kind individual at the desk when they said said they didn’t have any ready yet, and set off with a much lighter back pack to find lunch, the ocean, and scope places for later. I managed all three, and I am back in my hotel with my legs quivering from all the sitting followed by all the walking, along with, I think, all the staying up. I put my feet into the Pacific. I shall do better tomorrow, like, frex, swim.

I’m in the most touristy possible section of the city, there are scantily clad people speaking multiple languages aiming at the beach in one way or another in every direction.

I have paints, and I want to sit and stare at some things. I might also see if I can find a tour all the way around the island by bus or something fun.

excelsior!

Makers Manifesto

  • I can make anything I choose, even if I have no destination, recipient or use for it.
  • Making is a separate process from dealing with the finished, made objects.
  • I can make things from other people’s patterns, or from my own imagination, or combine them in whatever way I choose; it is still me making.
  • Making a thing is distinct from designing a thing – a design is just the beginning, it isn’t done until it exists in the world
  • I can use old or known techniques in my work without thinking I am repeating myself, or copying someone else
  • I can use new materials, media or techniques in my work and it will still be mine
  • Getting bored in the middle of the making is a thing that happens. In general, if I want the thing done, I have to find ways of working with or through boredom.

I struggle with all of these at different points. Right now the first one, the idea that the things I make have to be towards a goal of some sort, is haunting me. Banishing that thought is hard.

changing your point of view

Anyone walking over the bike path bridge this afternoon found a pair of humans with a lot of neon green parachute cord and a neon pink water proof case with a phone in it, giggling madly. My friend Matt (new to blogging, doing some interesting things with card stock construction) and I tied my phone in a pink water proof case and tossed it dropped it carefully off the bridge as close to the river as we could. We got it down near the ice, and near some open water off a different section of the bridge, and even right into the water in one place (it was dark. And not at all clear what we were looking at).

We made a couple videos too, but they have a lot of extraneous motion and are hard to parse. Also they take for.ev.er to upload.

Seeing the underside of the bridge, seeing the river up close, seeing the ice, and the surface – all those made me think about the river a little differently. Which means I can make some new art based on a different point of view.

Daily February 2022

It is two years into a global pandemic, but some traditions remain. It’s time for Daily Feb 2022. Make something every day, and post it to Instagram. Use the #dailyFeb2022 hashtag to see what others are doing. Comment on friends’ work, accept compliments on your own. It is a good time! I hope you will join me. Tell me you are participating! Friend me on Instagram (lee.thomson.art)! Hash-tag your work.

Past years have seen participants from Clever Manka and Jenny Crusie’s Argh people. People have done everything from finishing sewing projects to a daily painting (you can check the older hashtags on Instagram (#dailyFeb2021, #dailyFeb2020, etc.) to see what people have got up to.

Since we are doing something daily, picking February to start seems like a good plan since it is the shortest month. And when I say daily, I mean daily, no shirking (but also no beating yourself up) which is why we have The Rules, outlined and explained below.

In order to keep from being overwhelmed, we have Rules, and the Rules are:

  1. A Very Low Bar
  2. Very Clear Boundaries and
  3. Quantity Not Quality

Let me explain.

A Very Low Bar: The purpose of an absurdly low bar is to invite anyone and everyone to step over it, to prove, in fact, that anyone and everyone can step over it. Having stepped over it gives you a little jolt of accomplishment, which is a good thing, and encourages you to do it again. We are after that tiny jolt of encouragement that comes from doing the thing. That will propel you to do it again, and again, and again, which is practice. So choose something you have tools for. Choose something that you can set up quickly and clean up easily (or set up in a corner somewhere that won’t be disturbed). Lower the threshold for doing the thing as much as you possibly can. To that end, it is perfectly legit to lay in a stock of things before Feb 1 – like pre-cut paper, sharpened pencils, the paints for this February’s palette, or all the ends of sock yarn you have on hand. Get a little excited about this process!

Very Clear Boundaries: This is a lesson from Twyla Tharpe’s book The Creative Habit and reinforced by personal experience and even Orson Welles (“The enemy of art is the absence of limitations.” ) To this end, 1) you must put some lines around what you want to practice, and B) make that measurable. So choose a size, limit your palette, limit number of stitches you are knitting, limit yarn size, commit to buying nothing new, or using up all of a resource, do whatever you need to make the box you are creating around your project small enough to be a little constrictive, so that you can experiment with pushing at the edges without having to spend too much time finding the edges first.

Quantity Not Quality: To make that measurable, choose metrics you can see, and count, things that are strictly mathematical or true/false. Your metrics matter, a lot. “Make one nice picture” is useless because who says it is nice? “Use up all the paint I have” is a very good metric because you can tell when you’ve achieved it and also it is pushing you towards more using and making.

SO – What are you going to be working on, and showing the world? Brainstorm ideas here, and join us on Instagram Feb 1, 2022.

Time passes

days have rhythms
of rise and (shine or not) 
of sun and light and lunch
and the slow tumble of the afternoon to evening
slouching more deeply into the couch, then
staggering upstairs to bed

Weeks have a rhythm imposed by expectation? Experience?
on Sunday we do nothing, as aggressively as possible
and then the work week drags its way across our desks
with increasing delight (or relief) to Friday
when we wonder where the week went? again? 

months do not have rhythms, except to think 
Oh, February already? and then
what? July? in the next breath
but I can find no internal rhythm to a September, 
or March, or any other month -
although sometimes a great yellow moon 
comes shouting through the window
into the living room in the dusk

years have a rhythm 
of daylight and darkness, 
of warmth and cold
of green and gold and purple gray and back 
around to the clear green haze of spring
and mud underfoot, and new things starting
burgeoning, pressing forth

The rest are all imposed? invented? by humans, 
the decades and centuries
the generations, 
eras and epochs

still earth keeps track
day by day
year on year
a vast clock, spinning 
through time and space

Which is to say, I have been doing things, useful things even, and simply not writing about it.

Happy solstice – the days are getting longer in the Northern Hemisphere. Thank you for keeping the sunlight for us, in the Southern Hemisphere.

little boxes

Not the Malvina Reynolds song, but the output from my laser over the last several days. See:

I am planning on teaching a class at Northampton Center for the Arts in the fall – Fabric Collage and Art in Boxes. Because I have become very fond of making small art, and then putting it in a box for better presentation. My friend Matt gave me an entire 4×8′ sheet of plywood, precut into sixteen 1’x2′ sections, so they fit into my laser cutter. Since they are cheap, I feel perfectly happy using them for testing out patterns and making prototypes. Since the plywood has a nice finish, I also feel quite cheerful about the end results. I am rich in plywood!

My affection for containers, and for smooth stones, seems to have deep roots. My grandmother had several boxes of stones she’d collected over a long life. When I was invited to choose something from her possessions after she died, I picked an owl shaped with a handful of peculiar stones in it, some dated. My mother has at least one jar of stones that sits in her window to catch the light. I have a clear plastic bucket full of mostly nicely rounded stones from beaches of New England. My daughter Alice has a series of Mason jars filled with fossils and samples from geology field trips.