Until We Meet Again

Sitting with my coffee and laptop, back in Sag Harbor, I am already missing Bermuda. Although it is my favorite time of year here on the East End of Long Island, my spirit has gained weight upon arrival- especially after losing a truly beloved friend. I returned in time to kiss her goodbye, but she had already passed. 

A girlfriend of mine recently asked me why I do not blog about our local community; after all, there is no lack of subject matter. Having just returned from a walk in the crisp air with my sister's golden retriever, I do feel lucky to live in such a beautiful place. Yet, there is more to inspiration than merely being in a lovely environment. There are a constellation of factors that feed one's soul. Some of them are palpable- others intangible.

For me, part of that lies in the relationships I have built in Bermuda- both with places and people. Part of it lies in the fact that I am spurred to chase my curiosities, and toward that goal, doors open to my open mind. 

Should I wish to accompany the harbor pilots to greet cruise ships, I can reach for that. 

Should I aspire to attempt painting 'en plein air'- without ever having created a painting, I can do that, too- with the warmest welcome.  

Should I wish to meet an artist- who has inspired me for decades- someone beloved by all who frequent The (ever so lovely) Island Shop, I can ask, and just might be surprised with an invitation to dinner.

Certainly, not all of my dreams are fulfilled. I did not hear back from Michael Douglas' realtor; I had hoped to write about his home for sale. 

I did not hear back from The Royal Gazette; perhaps they would relish publishing a column from a visitor? 

I also missed a fortuitous opportunity with a gentleman acquaintance that I met in Bermuda. He is an artist, whose work I would like to see. Time went too quickly, and I did not have the chance to ask him to see his works of art- even on his I-Pad. 

For now, as I look at the photographs of this trip, I appreciate the uniqueness of the visit, with all of the fits and starts- with the glory of climbing a rope ladder, up the side of a freighter to the 10 days on antibiotics for a mysterious eye ailment, to the organist at the Cathedral of Most Holy Trinity, who played "Amazing Grace" on the organ for me- so that I could send it to my dying friend. 

One could say that it was not a perfect trip; the fact that I developed writer's block toward the end says that concisely. Yet, it is always rich and experiential to me, regardless of whether I write. 

The new friends that I have made, the opportunities that I was given, and the walks along Salt Kettle Road- taking in details of nature- will fuel me for some time- they are treasures. Take, for example, my attempt to paint...

For over a year, I had been following Bermuda Plein Air on Facebook- enjoying the posts of artwork by artists of different styles. How romantic and fabulous, to go out painting on a Sunday morning, and be privy to the freshly created images of others. I wanted to try it myself.

I had attempted to join the Bermuda Plein Air group on my first Sunday on the island; they were painting at Chaplin Bay- an opportune location to learn about painting the sea and clouds- something that has intrigued me since watching my father paint, as a young child. 

Regrettably, by the time I arrived, they were on the very last critique. I was disappointed, but all was not lost; I made a new friend, Anne. She would take me under her wing to paint in the 'back of town' just two weeks later.

Quite excited at the prospect of making a painting, while also daunted by the pressure of my genes (hailing from an artistic family) and the prospect of a public critique, I headed to Hamilton to buy art supplies. 

A lover of color, I walked the aisles of the art store, DNA, looking for an affordable watercolor set. I would have loved to buy tubes of hand-selected colors (the fun part). Fortunately, deterrents prevailed- both the price of the individual tubes, and thoughts of my morbidly obese suitcase.

I found a small pad, and some cheap brushes that my father would have balked at. Secretly, I imagined that making a small work of art would fly under the radar at the critique. 

The sales lady in the art store told me, unabashedly, that the bristles might fall out of my brushes (due to the price point). I wondered why her store carried them, then... Perhaps for children who like to make paintings of hairy creatures?

Anne picked me up at Salt Kettle in the early morning, and we headed to Bouchee for breakfast in town. Bouchee is a popular French bistro, known for its breakfast specialties, including various takes on Eggs Benedict. 

After we ate, we headed to the "back of town", an area of Hamilton that visitors do not typically frequent. It is not a seedy place- yet, if there is an area of town that is 'up and coming', this would be it. I think it is quite charming. It reminds me of New Orleans.

Interestingly, the Bermuda Plein Air painters were all painting at different locations this time- rather that creating different perspectives of the same beach, as they did at Chaplain Bay.

We drove around the neighborhood, discussing whether we should attempt to paint the bubble gum-colored Presbyterian Church, or perhaps just a hint of a building- in more depth. 

I loved the idea of using pink on my experimental foray into watercolor... Yet, we settled on a small little house- minty in color, with lush palm trees in front. This would allow us to use a variety of hues and fill in shadows...eek! I hadn't a clue what to do.

Anne brought me a chair to paint in, and shared her supplies. She would use an easel and paint, while standing. For nearly two hours, we enjoyed Sunday morning life on the street corner. I was actually in the road, cordoned off by orange cones that Anne had brought from her office. Naturally, they said "Keep Bermuda Beautiful."

One of the most enjoyable aspects of the experience was the array of visitors that came by- local folks. Cars slowly passed. Pedestrians stopped to look at our artwork. I even had a drive-by request for a portrait- this delighted me beyond measure. 

I made sure not to look at Anne's work until it was nearly done. The intimidation factor would be intense. Creating artwork relies so heavily on observational skills and personal interpretations. I was curious, as we painted quietly...How did my eyes view the house with the shadows vs. what did Anne see? I was so fortunate to have had a painting partner. 

In immersing ourselves in the "back of town", I realized how powerful art can be- regardless of one's status in life. Had I the opportunity, I would have loved to paint the following week, amongst the passersby.

As 11:45 am grew near, we headed to Victoria Park for our critique. Walking across the lawn, past the beautiful band stand, we saw many works of art, leaning against a great big tree. A group of artists had gathered. There was a big easel, on which each painting would sit- one at a time, for evaluation by the group. 

There was no running away now. I had made a commitment to participate fully. Hopefully, a combination of British and Bermudian etiquette in the crowd would spare me embarrassment. I was indeed intimidated, but I do like to push my boundaries in Bermuda... 

At last, when my little painting met the scrutiny of the group, I learned that it was "strong." The group asked if was truly my first painting- that was kind! I received technical advice on applying water first- in order to make the sky look more realistic, and to "work on my edges." There may have been some mention of my painting's abstract appearance. 

Yes, of course, '2D' was precisely what I was shooting for...

The experienced painters advised that I could go online to watch tutorials on various aspects of watercolor painting, should I wish to practice. I would prefer to have an art teacher and a different medium. I can do quite well with drawing, but the use of water and big brushes to make nuances and small details leaves me befuddled. The granddaughter of a Realist, my mind is too literal.

The members of Bermuda Plein Air thanked me for joining them, and invited me to return. I felt content, as five of us headed to the Hog Penny Pub for lunch. This is one of the things I love most about my time in Bermuda- spontaneous camaraderie. 

Acquaintances are not acquaintances for very long. In fact, as irony would have it, I walked into The Hog Penny and caught sight of a young man with whom I had danced over my family's Easter vacation. He did not see me, and I doubt that he would remember me, yet he brought us many laughs. 

As my final week in Bermuda approached, I had stormy weather- which I welcomed, and quality time with the Lowe sisters. I also had the good fortune to meet Janie and Dan, from Connecticut. Owners of a horse farm and prestigious riding facility in Ridgewood, they had just been at the Hampton Classic- as I was packing my suitcase for Bermuda.

I also had the pleasure of meeting a guest from England, who was visiting Bermuda for a highly intriguing reason- to purchase a home!  I tagged along for a viewing of a potential property, situated smack in the center of Bermuda (could not be more ideal), on an idyllic, colorful lane. 

The pertinent questions were aired, such as "What color will you paint the house?" and "What will you call the house?" The neighbor had painted the adjacent wall bright yellow... would that stand? And how to broach the topic? What an exciting prospect.

Toward the end of my stay, I became quite distracted by news of a friend's poor health at home. While I wished to stay a few more days, to enjoy the good company around me, preoccupation dominated my heart. 

As per my norm, I delayed checking in for my flight, until the morning I would depart. When here, I tend to remain on the proverbial fence (or limestone wall) until the taxi is in the driveway.

Although typically quite chatty with my cab drivers, I was silent as we headed East. Even though I intended to maximize my time in Bermuda (what a fortuitous and rare time in my life), I also had to seize the opportunity for a final farewell. I could not have both.

Arriving at the quaint little airport, it would soon be time to face the music with Delta, again. Despite my heroic efforts to help my suitcase lose weight, it had only shed twenty-three pounds. I was just THREE pounds over this time, and...

I can't even discuss it.

Thankfully, there was no line at Customs, but I did receive a major pat-down in security. I need to stop wearing feminine, frilly outfits that scream, "Search me, please!"

Up the stairs I went, to sit in the airport lounge for breakfast. As I gazed over to my left, I saw two ladies drinking Prosecco from flutes- presumably toasting their time on the island. 'That's the way to leave Bermuda', I thought. "I'll have what they're having," I told the waitress.

Prosecco in hand, I toasted my beloved Mary at home- a second mother to me, in recent years. Herself an artist, she would have been proud that I tried my hand at painting, and would have relished my adventures, with avid attention.

As life would have it, I said "farewell" to a new friend, and "goodbye" to an old friend on the very same day.

As my plane took off into the pillowy clouds that hover over Bermuda, I thought about how fleeting clouds and blessings in life can be.

Until we meet again...

 

*Art credit (first image) to Masterworks Gallery Exhibit of Children's Artwork (unsigned)