Roy #3 Capturing the Light from Sky Pond

During the three consecutive passages to reach Washington—each lasting two to three weeks—we sailed from New Zealand to Tahiti, Tahiti to Honolulu, and Honolulu to Port Angeles, Washington. The rough seas made it nearly impossible to stand up in the boat, let alone draw. I found that occupying my mind with alternative forms of creativity was both inspiring and a distraction. Weeks of rhythmic pounding, sleep deprivation and isolation thousands of miles from land generated unusual ideas that were unrestrained by conventional measures of art. During these trips I produced digital art on my IPad that I still regard as ‘pretty good’ even today.

Once we reached our new home port of Port Townsend, Washington, I stumbled upon an artist and teacher of abstract painting and explored using oil pastels and acrylic paint. However, this progress was interrupted as we prepared for our following passage from the Pacific Northwest to Mexico. I couldn't envision how I would sustain my artistic pursuits in Mexico. This was just the first of many false starts I experienced while struggling to define my medium and artistic voice.

While my sailing skills were improving, they primarily focused on passage-making. Multi-week ocean passages seemed to dominate our sailing experiences, and anyone who has done enough of them knows they are rarely enjoyable. Coupled with my frustration of finding my artistic voice, I struggled as a sailing partner. Both art and sailing felt more like chores than enjoyable activities. I reminded myself what the abstract artist, Brian Rutenberg, says, “The best way to find your voice is to make a lot of work and destroy all of it. The most important thing is to show up every day, no matter how dreadful the results.” And that’s certainly what I did. With each failed painting I ripped the paper from its mount on the easel, shredded it wildly in the air and threw it like Frisbee into the sea - while screaming, “I’m never going to f’ing paint again!” Then I would start again.

After a month or more of sailing southbound along the United States Pacific Coast, we finally arrived in Mexico's Sea of Cortez. We were quickly immersed in the cruising lifestyle, surrounded by an inclusive community of like-minded sailing friends who encouraged us to continue our passage across the Sea of Cortez to Puerta Vallarta for the winter. It was there where I joined watercolor painting retreat in the small village of Boca de Tomatlán, just south of Puerto Vallarta, set me on my course.

The workshop took place in the fall of 2018. The following year, we sailed along Mexico's Pacific Coast and north into the Sea of Cortez, which offered beautiful views of tall burnt sienna mesas skirted by white coral beaches and turquoise waters. These stunning landscapes served as subjects for practicing my plein air painting skills from the deck of Sky Pond. However, swells from the distant Pacific Ocean and local winds often disturbed our anchorage making painting nearly impossible.

One day, between laying down seasick and raising my head to paint a squall, I created a watercolor that finally captured the essence of the fetch in the bay. It felt expressive and, most importantly, conveyed movement through the medium. That was my first breakthrough! It satisfied the goal of implying the subject to allow the viewer to infer the scene. While it was encouraging, many months followed that were filled with unsuccessful paintings and episodes of screaming, tearing and tossing with only hints of success.

It seemed insurmountable. Painting alone in the saloon of our boat meant battling the constant movement and noise of the wind and waves. When I was at my limit of tolerance I would scream “get me off this boat!” Carl listened patiently, gave me a hug and we carried on. I really believed being on firm land with other painters was the trick to improving my skills.

Over time, I developed methods to simplify my compositions and compare my works to the scenes I was painting and by the fall of 2019, I noticed progress in my work. However, in the new year, the pandemic hit the world. As a live-aboard couple in Mexico, we decided to moor Sky Pond in a marina while the ports remained open, fearing they would unexpectedly close and leave us stranded at sea. The marina in Mazatlan was calm, and the waters were flat, allowing me to paint for hours every day. I reconnected with an accomplished artist and enlisted her help as a remote tutor, meeting quarterly on Zoom for critiques of my work. Being isolated and stationary was a boon to painting! The Mexicans didn’t subscribe to the idea of Quarantine since, to them, there was no pandemic!

As the South Pacific island countries reopened after COVID-19, Carl and I crossed the Pacific Ocean from Mexico to the South Pacific islands. As an explorer who arrives at a remote iconic destination, I often take photos, only to realize later that they didn't truly capture the depth, feeling, or colors of the location. That's why I chose to paint our remarkable surroundings. I strive to portray not just the subject itself, but also the atmosphere surrounding it, including its scents, colors, and light. Through my paintings, I can fully engage my senses and express the profound emotions that the experience evokes

The sunlight, clouds, and water were unique to each island nation. The Marquesas are shaped by volcanic activity and surrounded by deep dark waters, whereas, the Tuamotus are atolls of white coral sand containing pools of clear turquoise water.

Every destination presented a new subject matter, continually challenging me to incorporate new brush strokes, modify pigment hues, and capture unusual land formations. However, my mentor struggled to relate to my subjects; her criticism stemmed from her focus on traditional themes like barns, streets, and fields. She couldn't envision the luminous purples and turquoise of the waters where we traveled nor why I was drawn to paint the unusual land formations of the atolls. She especially dismissed the digital art I created as an outlet during ocean passages. She didn’t consider them to be interesting adjuncts to the creative process. A missed opportunity, in my opinion. As a result, her feedback became increasingly critical. At one point, she even suggested that I give up watercolor altogether.

Her feedback was accurate but her delivery was crushing. This was when I learned I could not rely on external validation nor criticism to understand whether I was achieving my goal. I developed methods to evaluate my progress and motivate myself. That was my 'agency moment,’ as the author David Brooks describes it. He says, "When you hit this moment, you're not molding yourself to some prefab definition of success. You have your own criteria. You're not relying on the opinions of others. Your own standard and your own ability to judge your own work.” I knew it best when a fellow sailor cried when he saw one of my paintings of The Plantation on the beloved Fijian atoll Vanua Baluva and when my husband began to introduce me as an artist. Since then, I have truly believed I am an artist.

I knew I had acquired a level of competency and though there was more work to be done, I decided to part ways with my mentor.

The Fijian seas came to feel like home. We explored new islands and revisited familiar ones, gradually building relationships with the Fijians living in the island villages. My confidence as a sailor had increased after completing more than ten, multi-week ocean passages over the years, allowing us to relax in a known cruising ground.