Artist Tim Gardner (b.1961)

Wine and Jalapeno

2011-09-09T11:09:00.002-05:00

A better photo of the painting. My first foray into the genre of still life, technically speaking. 5"X7", oil on canvas board, from life. Not for sale.

Daily Paintings

2011-09-08T10:08:00.001-05:00

I'm now attempting to do "a painting a day" (or close to that). Here are the first two, already sold or promised away. The "Wine and Jalapeno" is 5X7 inches, and the "Toy Elephant" is 6X8.
I'll put following paintings on eBay, starting at $99.
Unfortunately, this month, I have some obligations which will dramatically distract me from painting each day. I'll do as much as I can until my time is freer.

Mermaid Commission

2011-02-16T19:46:00.005-05:00

click to enlarge:
I just posted these comments on Facebook, in regard to this painting:

"Inappropriate? I just did this commission over the weekend, per very specific requests by the client. I enjoyed bringing it to life, and concerned myself with color, shape, beauty, design, etc... But afterward, I realized that this was not simply a nude/fantasy study, it was a sexual tease. That lowers it from the classical tradition to something in the trailer park tradition, I suppose."

Anyway... It's acrylic on wood panel, 24" X 36"...

But, you know, as I do more and more paintings, I learn more and more, and I'm gaining confidence. But I have a serious problem: I'm making almost no money. Murals, portraits, signs, special little commissions... and of a high quality, it seems to me. Of course, I'm still LEARNING TO PAINT fundamentally, but I have the feeling that I'm HERE, I've made it! Woo-hoo! I can paint realistically! And... I'm freaking starving! Woo-hoo!

Honestly, today, I woke-up with no money AT ALL in my pocket or the bank, and little gas in the van. I drove to my studio (yes, I have a studio now) and finished the lettering on the mermaid sign. I then drove to the client's home. Not home. I so I drove back to my sailboat and parked. No breakfast, no lunch. Some tuna and rice on the boat, but I'm saving that for tonight so I'll have something in my stomach to help me sleep. I finally catch-up with the client in the afternoon. He loves it, but he wants it varnished. Cool. I drive by to the sailboat and park, because I'm nearly out of gas. I walk two miles to my studio and retrieve the varnish, and walk directly back to the sailboat, and varnish the painting. I then walk to the client's house, CARRYING the painting over my head. He loves it still, and says he'll pay me in a couple of weeks. I walk back to the sailboat, still broke, still hungry, and more and more disillusioned.

Anyway, later, I was given some food without even asking, which I devoured immediately.

Tonight, I have the very clear thought that I am finally a classical artist, and always will be, and that this is my life's intent... and that I'll never make a decent living doing it. I've never been a better artist, and I've never been so wretched.

Oil Portraits again

2010-12-25T13:11:00.003-05:00

After a nasty rejection several months ago, I had more-or-less decided to take a break from portraits. I did NO art for 2 or 3 months, and made myself sick on a cheap diet of Ramen noodles and whatnot, basically insolvent financially. Then I got into murals a bit, but I'm not sure how much I enjoy murals, to be honest.

So...

Recently, a sculptor acquaintance of mine wanted a pastel portrait of his neighbor's newborn, a little girl, but instead of pastel, I chose oil. I delivered it yesterday, on Christmas Eve, and all were pleased. And I am pleased. I enjoyed the act of painting again in oils, in a portrait. It went well in most of its stages. About 20 hours perhaps.

I'm realizing how much I disdain pastel, and that rough scratch-scratch-scratch, and that pastel chalky "smoke" which rises and gets in my mouth and nostrils and lungs... I LOVE the smell and feel of oil, however.

Anyway... The canvas was 24 X 18 inches, but the portrait area inside the white border is about 11 X 8. The reference photo, you see, was cropped just like this, and was about an inch or two wide, so I just painted what I saw, which is a lot easier then trying to imagine how the head and body were completed. The photo had a white border and a pink field surrounding it.

Residential Mural, first wall

2010-11-11T21:23:00.005-05:00

Acrylic on cement block. This is a south-facing wall, and even in November it is too hot to touch. Miserable working conditions, and the paint was drying almost instantly as I stroked it on... but the overall effect came out OK. "Decorative palm trees and foliage, and a little southwestern motif sun... or something. Nice customers.

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Boat Portrait

2010-11-07T12:02:00.003-05:00

I took this photo before it was finished... Later I adjusted the clouds, and added more clouds, and whatnot, and then didn't get a photo of the finished piece. ...Not completely happy with this, but landscapes are new to me.
...Acrylic on wood panel, 36 X 24 inches. ...For a hundred bucks, I'll do another one... hint hint...

Convenience Store Murals...Continued

2010-11-07T11:40:00.004-05:00

Each head is about four feet high. Acrylics again, of course. Owner wanted more girls eating sandwiches, and is happy with the result, apparently. (I actually went back a week later and made the sandwich much thicker and meatier, and I adjusted the teeth of the dark-skinned girl, slightly.)

Mural at Convenience Store

2010-10-02T14:44:00.005-05:00

Acrylic on Latex... First time using acrylic for flesh tones...

I was nervous about this. I realize that there is no more difficult subject for a muralist than a human face and/or figure, and my acrylic experience is limited. But I knew that if I could wrap my head around people in acrylic, in a water-based paint, in a mural, large-scale, that I can paint anything in acrylic, in a water-based paint, in a mural, large-scale.

It was surprisingly easy, and I think it came-out quite nice. From the proper viewing distance, it looks almost to be a photo plastered onto the wall...almost.

Or maybe I'm wrong. ....There are lots of people saying WOW and whatnot, but I don't have any artist friends saying anything like that, so far. And artists are the ones who know.

...Oh well...

I never know. I painted a portrait last spring, got it rejected, and then I freaked-out and didn't do anything for 3 months. My very specific thought was, "If I am not an artist, I do not wish to live." It was a very specific, very powerful thought, and it chilled me. Am I not actually an artist? But rather a poor fellow with misconceptions?..., poor poor Tim, ha ha ha, so sad really, him thinking he's a real artist continuing the tradition.

Alas... I do not know. I've been a failure so long, it seems the appropriate designation. Just ask any of my previous employers. I love 'em all, but they were GLAD to see me go. Heartbreaking.

Again, I know, I'm reveling in delicious self-pity. But everything is such a mystery. Everything. Waking in the morn, scratching my eyes, "Is that really the beginning light of day?" or a memory of being home, being loved, a child, a Saturday, and my long-lost Mom rubbing my thin child shoulders, and telling me to sleep more if I wish....?

Losing all hope is freedom

2010-08-29T16:01:00.005-05:00

"Losing all hope is freedom." ...This quote is from a fellow named Timo Noko in Finland. Here's his website:

http://koti.welho.com/tnoko/

This fellow has a dry wit and a strange perspective. He travels by kayak in places all over the world, alone, and spearfishes, cooks on open flames, and generally thumbs his nose at all convention.
He has several videos. It's worth watching one or two just to get a sense of someone this unusual.

I often think that simple kayak/canoe travel, and simple fishing, simple living, selling simple art, alone, and seeing the world... is the ideal scenario for myself. I did a lot of that sort of thing on the weekends back in Orlando, (canoe camping, that is...) traveling with eagerness to the east coast of Florida whenever I could, and camping, swimming, watching the stars at night, ...seeing...

And, these days, it seems as if I AM losing all hope, just like this Finnish fellow. All hope for a normal life. ....In recent months I've been told (by friends) that I'm a poor and even dangerous sailor, and that if I were lucky enough to get married and have kids, that I'd be a poor father; and I've had my artwork rejected; I've been rejected by business friends as well, basically; and, of course, a few women over the years have bluntly rejected me in startling fashion.

Losing all hope is freedom. That's an idea which seems delicious as I try to avoid eating in order to save money. Losing all hope is perhaps my best hope at this point. My youth is finished, and my careers are disasters. I just had another mural job get postponed, and spent my last dollar again.

Perhaps I've lost all hope already, all hope, that is, for the normal. Or perhaps all hope, flatly, is the best description. Just accept it and give up and go. Fascinating.

Living Hand to Mouth...What does that mean?

2010-08-27T09:40:00.005-05:00

I found this answer on the 'Net:

' Hand to mouth is a phrase which is used to denote living with the help of bare essentials. Living from hand to mouth means having absolutely meagre resources. What the phrase actually means is that, as soon as the resources are coming in, they are getting spent on basic necessities. To live from hand to mouth is to have a precarious existence. It literally means to intake or eat whatever one can lay their hands on. For example, "he was living hand to mouth after he was fired from his workplace". '

Anyway...

That's what the last few days have been like. Counting my change, looking for coins on the boat, running through the dwindling inventory of rice and noodles, and instantly taking and eating any food a friend or stranger gives me. (No, I'm not begging.) However, I do actually say things like, "If you have any FOOD you don't want...." Or, "You're SURE you must cancel that commission? Yesterday you said--"... whatever...

I guess it's an interesting experience that I'll always remember, especially later when I'm rich and famous. lol

Trying to have some fun today

2010-08-26T20:06:00.005-05:00

Why so serious?

I don't know. Just broke, I guess. And hungry, a bit. Not too bad. Hard to get good food.

Graphite on regular ol' printing paper, 8 X 11 or whatever. ... Almost got him:

Sketches of the Day

2010-08-26T12:45:00.003-05:00

Ball point pen stuff.

Sitting in the doc's office, waiting for a friend (to drive him home), and reading William Silvers' (of Disney fame) new book on acrylic painting... I got out the blue pen and doodled:

Reading V for Vendetta, and thought I'd practice on a few of the characters:

Not so good....My portrait sketching often looks like caricaturing, with too-big eyes, etc...:

Overall, blue ballpoint pen sketching is convenient and a good exercise. You can't erase.

Poem of the day

2010-08-26T11:59:00.003-05:00

How Death Got His Start

I found
this lullaby in my head this morning
in those moments flashing
between sleeping stupor and awake:
Roses are red, blood is like red, red is red, my roommate is dead.

The police don't like me, I can tell, I told
their questions.
The sweetly cold wall on my face for a moment or two, my mouth
upon it;
it was new latex;
it tasted of ammonia, and at that moment
it occurred to me
that my mouth can be upon someone without kissing.

And I remember the horrible pain of the handcuffs, but later they sent me home.

But later that year when my cousin was dead, they left me in the cell.
And when my cellmate died They put me in a room alone.
But, my Goodness, I escaped. A huge riot! Many of us got out, many died, many had red blood.

Running in the woods I found a stream but could not drink.
Running in the woods I found an elk and killed it but could not weep.
No, that is ridiculous.
No, yes, it is dead.
And a poor woodpecker with red head, dead.

I desired screaming, I desired kisses, I desired.

I found a large highway and walked straight out into it,
and the wreckage began.
...There were people in the upside-down car, moaning.
I crawled in and put my kiss on each.

New Mural Website

2010-08-18T11:39:00.002-05:00

Yeah, so I'm trying to get my mural career going again, so I started this:

www.TimGardnerMurals.Blogspot.com

Right now, I don't have much of a portfolio of murals, so I'm trying to create many murals ASAP. I may be painting a really huge cuban SANDWICH on the side of restaurant tomorrow. We'll see. Funny. ...I figure I can try to make it the most realistic and cool-looking cuban around.

Continuing to not paint portraits

2010-08-14T09:30:00.003-05:00

I may never do another portrait, I've decided. I'm not sure I enjoy the subject matter. Perhaps I'm feeling constrained. I'd like to paint everything... I like the idea of murals. The scale. The variety. I especially like large outdoor murals. Something about me, psychologically, finds that huge scale appealing.
Here's a photo of Eric Henn. An excellent artist who became a muralist specializing in large-scale outdoor works. This is the size I want to work with:

What does this say about me?

Gallery Update

2010-08-12T10:02:00.004-05:00

Yea! I've finally updated my gallery. Go to

http://www.TimothyBrentGardner.BlogSpot.com

...or not...your choice...But, really, I mean, why not? Go ahead and see my gallery...or not... Or you can, yes, you CAN go there and see my gallery of art, oh yes...yes...YES! ...or not... YOUR choice... Nobody's twisting your arm here, you know... No pressure... OK? OK... All is well...

Our One Possession

2010-08-08T10:55:00.004-05:00

From V for Vendetta, by Alan Moore:

"But it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it's all we have left in this place.
"It is the very last inch of us.
"But within that inch we are free." ...

"It is strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and I apologized to nobody.
"I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish...
"Except one.
"An inch.
"It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world that's worth having.
"We must never lose it or sell it, or give it away.
"We must never let them take it from us.
"I don't know who you are, or whether you're a man or a woman. I may never see you. I will never hug you or cry with you or get drunk with you.
"But I love you.
"I hope that you escape this place.
"I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people have roses again." ...

"I know every inch of this cell.
"This cell knows every inch of me.
"Except one."

...

EXECUTION :

Guard: "It's time. ...Unless you want to change your mind. ...Sign that statement. You could be out inside three years. Perhaps they'd find you a job..." ...

Prisoner: "Thank you. ...But I'd rather die behind the chemical sheds."

Guard: "Then there's nothing left to threaten with, is there? ...You are free."

Charcoal Portraits

2010-07-18T12:29:00.005-05:00

I drew this charcoal several months ago, while experimenting with different papers. This paper was actually Newsprint, which I loved, but which yellows and deteriorates quickly. I couldn't find another other paper I liked, so I stopped doing charcoals. Silly, I know.

You see, I've long had this idea that I should make money by doing live charcoal portraits. I did caricatures for years, which I think can ruin a traditional artist if he's not careful. But don't get me wrong. Caricatures are wonderful, but for artists they're mainly wonderful if you're a cartoonist. All very respectable, but not my dream. Charcoal portraits (from a live model) are a demanding step up from caricaturing, and one step below the discipline of oil portraiture.

Of course, I've done plenty of oil portraits (although I've been taking a break for the last 3 months, to get my head straight). But my oils have been from photos.

I have this romantic notion: if I want to participate in the tradition of the old masters, then I must do my oils LIVE. The artist observes a thing in the world, and then recreates it. From the caves in France, to the Athenian artisans, to Michelangelo, and John Singer Sargent, to my doorstep now. It is one thread being stretched through the centuries. When you see those drawings in the cave, you know that MAN was there. This is the skill which defines the human as human, and abstracts us away from the animal.

But to make a living, and to increase my skill, I believe charcoal portraits, done live, and quickly, are a perfect compliment to, and enhancement of, oil portraiture. I have this image of me setting-up on a sidewalk, with or without permission from whomever thinks they are the giver of permissions of whichever site, and doing fantastic, mind-blowing, beautiful charcoal portraits for 10 bucks a pop or something. ...Maybe I can do it one day, maybe not.

But to do live charcoal portraits, I must be sure of my materials, I must understand my materials. As of yet, I can't find the right combination of materials. Mainly, I cannot find a paper I like, which is readily available, and inexpensive, but of better quality than Newsprint.

And here's my confession. While I've taken a break from portraiture, I've also just realized that I have drawn NOTHING. Three months, NOTHING. I have found myself taking a break from all I know or understand or love. It has been a quiet Hell of sorts, walking through the days, doing whatnot, surviving, and unable to find the merest scrap of ambition.

And then, two days ago, I grabbed a blue-ink ball-point pen, and started drawing. I found it strange that the ability to draw, to see, still resided in me. A mystery, a joy.

Beautiful

2010-07-18T12:13:00.004-05:00

I found this accidentally yesterday. I keep replaying it for the music, but also for the technique and the beauty of the charcoal portrait. Looks like vine and/or compressed charcoal. Notice how the artist blocks-in roughly and darkly, then "washes" the face, then drags a rag to soften and sink-in certain areas like the hair, and then restates dark areas, and then lifts off the highlight areas, bringing the visage to life, and then the final details. I'm guessing it was about a 20-minute drawing from a live model, but I don't know. If you go to the artist's YouTube channel, he has several more videos.

Nightmarish Week

2010-06-26T11:03:00.005-05:00

This last week can be called, without reservation, a nightmare.

First, I got news that my friend, Michele Nichols, was killed in a small plane crash. Michele was an artist in Orlando with whom I'd often worked, and whom, I must confess, I loved. Of course, she had a boyfriend, and he died also in the plane crash, but I would have married her in a second if she'd been single and if, miraculously, she would have wanted such a thing. But life rages against our desires often. Michele and I occasionally talked on the phone or emailed, and she had bought my old PC when I left Orlando last year. She paid more than it was worth, and she asked me, "Are you all right? Let me give you more money." And just a couple of months ago, I "borrowed back" my computer from her, visiting her at her apartment in Orlando for a couple of hours. She never used the computer she said, and I needed one for a while, promising to either bring it back or pay her back. "No, no, " she said, "Keep it, keep it." ... Sweet, sweet Michele is all I can think about, and her terrible final moments. Her face is so clear in my head. And my artist's imagination keeps playing a vivid reel of the plane's violent crash and explosion, with sweet Michele being mercilessly twisted and destroyed in the middle of the inferno, over and over in my head. I know this will torture my soul for a while, but like everything it will pass, and that will be sad as well. Then again, my suffering is certainly less than that of her family and closest friends. And I hate myself for being so interested my own suffering, fascinated by it really. I am an egotist.

Another thing happened, and this within 48 hours of the news of Michele's passing. A special friend of mine emailed a long letter to me which can be best described as a complete evisceration of our friendship. The man and his wife are portrait clients of mine, but more than that they are a couple to whom I have, in the past, looked for guidance and respect. I especially have wanted their respect. He is a boat captain, but he retired last year, and he and his wife moved out of state. I haven't spoken to them in several months, and then, suddenly, I receive this horrible email. I won't go into details, but it was bad enough that it makes me concerned for my friend's physical and spiritual health. Of course, it makes me doubt myself. My confidence in all things wavers constantly ... And so I'm stuck between incomprehension, anger, and love.

On lesser news, all my money-making efforts here in Apollo Beach have been defeated. I thought, for sure, that a couple of little commissions were developing, and I wasn't worried, but suddenly I was completely broke. I absolutely am unable, psychologically, to return to a normal job, but I won't go into details of that. Besides, I know how to make money with my art, but this whole thing snuck up on me. Maybe I wished it so. I don't know. I never planned to stay in Apollo Beach, and I've found myself glued to the place, unable to ascertain the proper will, or understand the proper will, or discover the proper will. I only know that I want to do my art, and travel simply, and not have friends die or friends deny me their friendship or... or...

What this all culminated into is, I have sold my cruising sailboat. In my current emotional/soulful state, I just wish to go. I'd like to photograph and paint wildlife and marine life, and I thought, in fact, that I'd buy the simplest craft I know, a canoe. Deck it, put a sail on it, grab a few items and my art supplies, and, indeed, go. Build a series of serious paintings.

But I compromised. I found a $200 sailboat, old and taken-apart and half-customized, but with almost all the parts, all the (OLD) sails, and with a decent trailer, and nothing but potential. It will be ready to go into the water in just a few days. The sailboat is only 20 feet long, and one-forth the weight of my just-sold cruising sailboat. It can actually be rowed, and the mast is rather easily put up and taken down. And everything is cheaper about such a small boat, and simpler. This is crucial. Perfect for my starving-artist/lamenting-soul mindset right now.

The $200 Sailboat:

Yes, I will live on her, and go to The Keys, and find tourists to buy my paintings, and begin working on a real portfolio. And I need to commit myself to improving my draftsmanship.

Being truly mobile is precious to me. With this boat, I can take all my art supplies and even most of my books and whatnot, and stay relatively dry. I think of it as a fat canoe, really. It has ballast in the form of a 400 lb. iron swing keel, and should be fairly stable yet nimble. My 22 lb. Danforth-style anchor, 30 feet of chain, and 150 feet of 1/2" three-strand anchor line should hold this vessel through everything up to a hurricane.

So I conclude the horror of this week with a touch of hope. And tomorrow is a new week.

The Prisoner... Thoughts and Quotes

2010-06-13T20:25:00.005-05:00

The Prisoner. How does one describe this thing? First it must be noted that it is a British television show from the 1960's. I still remember watching the reruns in the 1970's, as a kid. The premise, superficially, concerns an intelligence agent, ala James Bond or similar, who tries to escape his professional position and his unsatisfying life. But as he tries to retire, he is drugged and taken to a mysterious island. The island is populated with ostensibly happy people, and the environment is a lovely seaside village. And everyone is identified by a single number. Our protagonist is given the "name" Number 6.

Number 6 doesn't know why he's there at first, but then it becomes clear that some para-government entity has put him there. And all they WANT is for #6 to tell them WHY he resigned and WHAT he knows. And, generally, they want him to be a good citizen of the village, and conform, join-in, be nice... normal and friendly.

Of course, #6 immediately thinks of nothing else except ESCAPE.

In the end, the television series explores the relationship between an individual and the community. This is an ancient problem. The ancient Greeks ruminated excessively upon this very thing. And, philosophically, it is not in any way clear which is more important, the individual or the community in which he resides.

Our contemporary instincts tell us that the best good is that which is best for the most people. But it may come as a surprise that this is a rather new idea, or at least it's an idea which is only now popular, briefly, historically speaking. Surely it can be argued that great men, men like Socrates and Plato and Ben Franklin and Thomas Jefferson, are more important to the very core of mankind than the teeming masses.

In my own estimation, the individual is at least as important as the community, and perhaps is of greater value. The individual human must be protected and respected as the most precious thing alive. That's why we have laws protecting the lone man against the tyranny of the many. The lone man stands aside the group, forever glorious and irreplaceable.

With that said, here are some quotes from The Prisoner:

First, my favorite:
“I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered! My life is my own.”
--No.6; Arrival

And more. Peruse at your leisure:

New No.2: “Good day, Number Six.”
No.6: “Number what?”
New No.2: “Six. For official purposes, everyone has a number. Yours is number 6.”
No.6: “I am not a number, I am a person.”
--Arrival

No.2: “We can treat folly with kindness . . . knowing that soon his wild spirit will quieten, and the foolishness will fall away to reveal a model citizen.”
No.6: “That day you'll never see.”
--Dance of the Dead

“Unlike me, many of you have accepted the situation of your imprisonment and will die here like rotten cabbages.”
--No.6; Free For All

The Queen: “I want to be near you.”
No.6: “And everybody's near in this place . . . far too near.”
--Checkmate

No.2: “Tell me. . .are you still as keen as ever to leave us?”
No.6: “Any more questions?”
--The General

Chairman: “We deplore your spirit of disharmony.”
No.6: “That's a common complaint around here, isn't it?”
--A Change of Mind

No.2: “I assure you, that no matter what significance you may hold for me, to the Village and its Committee, you are merely Citizen Number Six, who has to be tolerated, and if necessary, shaped to fit.”
No.6: “Public Enemy Number Six.”
--A Change of Mind

“You still have a choice. You can still salvage your right to be individuals. Your rights to truth and free thought! Reject this false world of Number Two . . . reject it NOW!!”
--No.6; A Change of Mind

“He told [those kids] a . . . a blessed fairy tale. That one wouldn't drop his guard with his own GRANDMOTHER!”
--No.2 [concerning No.6]; The Girl Who Was Death

AND THE FINAL TWO:

“He has revolted. Resisted. Fought. Held fast. Maintained. Destroyed resistance. Overcome coercion. The right to be a person, someone or individual. We applaud his private war, and concede that despite materialistic efforts, he has survived intact and secure!”
--The President; Fall Out

“All that remains is . . . recognition of a man.”
--The President; Fall Out

Final note:
I suppose, too, that I should tell you the ending of the entire TV series. So if you don't wish to know, then stop reading.

Throughout the series of episodes, Number 6 continued to plead to see Number ONE. But he could never get passed Number 2. Number ONE was the only person who could, in the end, grant Number 6 freedom. Of course, finally, Number 6 is allowed to meet Number One. And who does he meet? Himself. That's right, Number One is his own self. The entire time, the person who was holding Number 6 PRISONER was his own self, his own fears... A great metaphor, for sure, beyond all the concerns of society and the individual within. In the end, WE are the people who stop ourselves from success. We fear escape. We fear success. We enslave our own souls by adhering to the ideals of the familiar.

"When in danger or in doubt, hoist your sails and bugger off out!"

2010-06-12T16:54:00.007-05:00

A Law Unto Himself - No money, no registration, no worries! Kris Larson wanders the Indian Ocean battling bureaucrats and ignoring snobbish yachtsmen aboard his steel junk.

I may have pointed to this article in my blog once before, but I don't remember. It's worth a repeat, either way. This fellow Kris Larson must be my long lost brother I think, or soul mate, of sorts. Thanks to AtomVoyages.com and James Baldwin for his great reportage.

Here's the link:

http://www.atomvoyages.com/articles/krislarsson.htm

To summarize, Kris is a fellow who James met back in the '90's I believe. Kris epitomizes the individual who proclaims the worth of the individual in an era of the collective. Of course, he probably wouldn't put it that way, but I do. Kris merely sails his home-built sailboat around the world and thumbs his nose at all the government over-reaching which dominates contemporary culture.

Here's a passage:

' From Darwin (Australia) he enjoyed a trouble-free 40-day passage on port tack all the way to Mauritius, where he began his first of many battles against port officials. His lack of boat-registration papers caused customs officers in each country Kris visited to react with anything from mild annoyance to shocked disbelief. We can imagine the scene: Boat registration, please. “No registration. Build her myself.” Inoculation certificate? “No papers, mate, but here’s a smallpox inoculation scar on my arm.” There are port charges. “Sorry, no money.” And so on. Rather than conform, Kris prefers to haggle with and outfox the port authorities. He usually gets away with it. '

And this:

' With his inability to obey the bureaucratic buffoons, certainly Kris will never be a candidate for membership in the Seven Seas Cruising Association. Kris said, "when those brown-shirts in the SSCA tried to tell me to 'leave a clean wake or you make it more difficult for all of us', I told them that by spinelessly accepting every new restriction and tax on our freedom, they are the ones making it more difficult for sailors to move around freely." '

The point is, sailors and non-sailors, in all aspects of modern life, are faced with more and more restrictions on our freedom.

For instance, right now, I'm struggling to upgrade Empty Pockets to legal status for a liveaboard. I especially need a working head (toilet) of adequate size. The thing is, I don't plan on actually USING the nasty thing. I piss over the side or ashore, and either go ashore to shit, or "pack it out," backpacker style. But the law requires a certain set-up, and the water police will ticket me if they board me and inspect the vessel. The sad thing is, with a properly working head and holding tank, when I have the thing "pumped-out" at a marina (for a fee) this untreated sewage will be circulated to a commercial sewage treatment plant where it may or may not be treated before being pumped INTO THE SEA. Millions of gallons of untreated sewage is deposited along our coasts every year by these commercial interests.

If we allow it, these pompous fellows who like to call themselves, as a group, GOVERNMENT, will tax our bank accounts and our RIGHTS right down to nothing.

(By the way, the title is a quote by Tristan Jones, who has buggered off out of this life, but still has influence. He was a sailor and a writer and a madman.)

More Illegal Drug Horror

2010-06-11T23:59:00.002-05:00

First, let me say, I don't mind people smoking a little pot or snorting a little cocaine, or whatever, in the realm of mild hedonism... assuming all things, otherwise, are equal. But that's not reality. We do not live in a vacuum.

I know I've mentioned this before, but if you use illegal drugs, especially pot or cocaine or meth, you are FINANCING the drug cartels and the associated violence, killing, and destruction... the horror... You are financing the horror. Just look at the daily headlines out of Mexico.

Mexico. We in the U.S. get almost all our drugs from the Mexican drug gangs, those brutal and soulless institutions which market pleasure mixed with blood. Of course, we might think it's a Mexico problem, and not our concern. Well, the cartels have actually set-up a nicely organized network throughout North American cities, from Anchorage to Key West. They're right down the street, so to speak. But even if it were simply a problem in a foreign nation, the problem is, we are the ones creating the problem. Plus, the argument that non-Americans are undeserving of our concern is conspicuously without heart.

Let me be blunt.

Buy some weed today? Some coke? Take a toke today? Congratulations, you just added your own little money advance to the nightmare. Congratulations, moron. Sleep well in your stupor.

Listen, man, the Cosmos is full of pleasures that don't need to feed this catastrophe.

A cool glass of wine... sweet sex... dolphins off the bow of your boat... the laughter of a dependable friend... an anticipated meal... the smile of a curious child... starry, starry nights...

And on and on...

Listen, man, I wish drugs were legal, too. But they're not, at least not the kind of which I write tonight. Unfortunately, the appetite in America for these particular drugs is overwhelming. We give the cartels 30 BILLION BUCKS a year, and we sell them their automatic rifles and grenades and rocket launchers.

I mean, I don't know... Look in the mirror... No, do it... Look in the mirror and consider. I must do it also. I pay taxes and support the US military and its sometimes questionable (at best) use of force... .... And I pay for the government to ride harder and harder over the populace of our nation... But I must choose my battles. I politely decline to smoke. I politely decline to enjoy the company of many folks because of their drug use. Many folk. ...We must choose our battles.

Now, with that said, watch this video from last year. Horror.

Sailboat Shipwreck and Rescue: 5 Days, 15 Miles, and One Broken Ankle

2010-05-31T14:12:00.005-05:00

Empty Pockets, back at dock, after the ordeal:

OK, so I don't think my ankle is broken, but I'm not sure. Probably just a severe sprain. I can walk, barely.
...Here's the story:

Last month (April), my deal to paint murals at this old yacht club/ apartment complex was canceled. Since I didn't have money for rent, and since my Watkins 27 sailboat, Empty Pockets, needed a lot of work to really be ready to sail way, I decided to do a quick sale of the vessel. Within 72 hours, it was sold, and I had a measly $875 in my pocket. The new owner put an outboard on the back of Empty Pockets, and motored it away forever... or so I thought.

My friend let me stay temporarily on his "extra" sailboat, and I looked for a cheap, small, and ready-to-go sailboat. I soon found an 18-foot open boat, brought it back, and started to get it ready to head to The Keys. In the meantime, the yacht club owner had me do some normal ol' house painting to pay for a little rent.

THEN, a couple of weeks ago, an FWC (Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission) officer gave me a visit. He said that they'd found my boat.
"What boat?"
"Your Watkins 27 sailboat. It's washed-up on a sandbar on the other side of Tampa Bay, laid over on its side, and full of water. Sunk, basically."
"Oh, no, that's terrible... But I sold that boat last month."
"Really? Well, do you have a bill of sale?"
"Uh, no. It's just an old sailboat, and the guy paid cash."
"Well, you are the owner of record, and you are responsible. You're facing criminal charges and many thousands of dollars for salvage fees and fines."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Needless to say, I quickly contacted the guy who bought the sailboat, and he said he didn't have time for the whole situation, and that he would simply give the sailboat back to me. And he did just that. He brought the title back, and I was totally stuck with the wrecked thing. Great.

But then the St. Petersburg police got involved, and they said they were going to prosecute that guy who had bought the boat from me and wrecked it and abandoned it. (Actually, it had been "at anchor," but a storm pulled it away, dragging the anchor, and put the boat on the sandbar.)

So I was confused... A couple of days passed, and I got a ride over to where the boat was laid-up. I wish I'd gotten a pic. A sad sight, indeed. Empty Pockets was completely grounded and heeled over to starboard. It was completely full of water, with fish and everything else swimming in and out. But at low tide, it was in only a couple of feet of water. A salvageable situation, quite possibly.

Then, last Monday, the FWC said that they had consulted with the police, and they had all decided that I was the responsible party, since I was the owner of record. So that was that.

The next day, I arranged another ride, and planned on renting a big water pump. But, surprise surprise! I get a call from the guy who had bought the boat. Happily, he had taken responsibility and hired a boat and had, just the day before, pulled Empty Pockets off the sandbar and anchored it near a park about 2 miles away.
"So what now?" I asked.
"It's all yours, Tim. I'm DONE with the thing. Good luck!"

HA! I was off. I gathered together some necessary items, borrowed a rowing dinghy, got a ride over to that park, and rowed me and my stuff over to the boat. And... And.... I was officially living aboard my own cruising boat again. Suddenly. Wow.

First sunset, back aboard:

But there was one small problem. It was sinking.

OK, OK, I can handle this, I thought. I pumped and pumped the water, and, finally, about four hours later, I could see the leak. The drive shaft/stuffing box was lightly pouring water into the bilge. I called my friend, Radar, who calmed me down and guided me, over the phone, through an attempt at repairs. And eventually I got the leak down to a drip-drip-drip, and went to bed about 2 A.M.

The next day, exhaustion. All the stress of the last week, and then all that pumping... I was wasted. I took four naps during the day, in-between bouts of cleaning-up and organizing the big mess which was my new home.

I love being "at anchor." Being "on the hook" is wonderful. One thing, it's much cooler than being at a dock. And there's a sense of freedom. Just raise the sails, pull up the anchor, and GO. Anywhere. Any time. ...In a sense. ...But it's not quite that simple, of course. I have responsibilities, needs... Yet the whole experience is thrilling for me. Sure, boats will zip by and throw-up a wake, and I must row the dinghy to shore if I need anything, but think about it: no rent, no bills, and the freedom the roam around wherever I wish. If I like someplace, I'll drop the hook and stay a while. If I have problems, I pull up the anchor and "bugger off."

The reality is, and was, last week, I needed to get back to Apollo Beach and get all my stuff. Plus I have some loose ends. But buggering-off I shall be, soon.

But let me finish the story, and tell how I broke my ankle, or almost.

I actually had never sailed ALONE on a boat of this size. My Islander 24 wasn't really that much smaller, but, then again, moving-up to a Watkins 27 is a big move. The Watkins weighs twice as much, and takes a lot more sail area to move at all.

Quickly I learned that I needed both the mainsail and the jib up if I wanted more than a knot or two of speed. The top speed of a sailboat like this is 5 or 6 knots, which doesn't seem like much to those not familiar with sailboats, but if you're sailing at 5 knots in a 27-foot boat, it means you REALLY have the wind going and the sails full, and the boat is likely heeled WAY over, and there's a A LOT of action and movement in and amongst the waves and current. It's beautiful and exciting. Tears come to my eyes, thinking of it... It's such a powerful physical and soulful experience.

Anyway... A couple of days pass. I'm enjoying being at anchor, and getting some rest, and I'm getting the vessel organized. I mean, first, besides saving the boat from sinking, I had to untangle one of the anchor lines from the rudder. ( They had put out 2 anchors. ) And the sails needed to be inspected and tested. ...I then sailed the boat away from the anchorage where'd it been left, and cruised about half a mile away to an isolated location off Indian Key in Boca Ciega Bay. Ahh, alone at last. I sail around a bit, feeling uncomfortable with the big sails and more cumbersome vessel, but knowing that it would only take a little time with the girl to learn her ways.

Day Four, Friday. Dawn. THIS is the day, I say to myself. Let's get back to Apollo Beach and get my stuff!

One problem. No wind.

So I wait. And wait more. The boat is ready to go. I made sure of that the evening before. I just need some wind.

Slowly the breeze begins and builds, hour after hour. I try THREE times to get going before I'm successful. You see, I had to cross under a bridge. The bridge was certainly high enough, but the tide had changed, and I had, by Noon, missed my chance for a favorable current. My first attempt had me pull up the anchor, sail back and forth a couple of times in the wide anchorage next the the Intracoastal Waterway, and give up, throwing the anchor back down. Damn. Around lunchtime, with more breeze, I pull up anchor again, sail around a little, a little better, a little more wind, and I said around for an hour or so, wishing for more wind. I even make a dry run directly down the channel toward the bridge, with the wind at my stern. No way. I turn hard to port and sail a couple of hundred yards away, and drop anchor. Again. Whew!

I eat lunch.

About 2:30 PM, I look at the situation. My food and water are getting low. (I was actually beginning to ration everything.) The wind EXISTS, and is steady. I need to get back. Go for it.

So I begin heaving-in the anchor line and chain AGAIN, for the third time. Let's go! I put-up all my sail area, and I immediately realize that the wind is indeed a bit better. I zip around, tack, and jibe, and head straight down the channel again for the bridge. Here I go!

Yeah, here I go, but slowly. The current is going the opposite direction. But I have steerage, and the breeze direction is perfect, directly astern. Let's just do it.

And it works. I slowly and surely slide under I-275, and then out the other side. HA! Here we come!

I cover the next four miles down the ICW channel in an hour. Only ten more miles! Me and Empty Pockets enter the wide expanse of Tampa Bay proper.

But then... but then... But then the breeze begins fading. And soon it's nothing. I wallow the remaining hours of the day two or three miles from land. Seeing my destination, but also seeing my origin.

Eventually I notice that the eastern shore of Tampa Bay is covered in clouds, and that smoke stacks are indicating a different wind direction than that which I've had so far. So I try to milk all the energy I can out of my sails, but instead of northeast, I head east, and get another half-knot of speed to go with the half-know I already had.

And soon, I think, I mean, I think this is happening, YES, I'm picking-up a southeast wind. A nice one! Woo-hoo! It is pure joy, man. Pure joy, as the sun sets behind me.

This new wind, however, proves more fickle than I would have guessed. But I manage to cross the ship's channel before dark. Five more miles!

Night descends.

No problem. No problem. I have already anticipated this, and have used duct tape to attach temporary red and green lights to the pulpit at the bow. But I need to go forward and turn 'em on. So I set the sails and steering wheel in as much a balanced position as I can, and I calmly dance forward. I am happy.

So I turn-on the lights at the bow, and turn-around to walk back to the rear of the boat, to the helm. But something strange happens. I stop. I look at the boat. I'm standing on the foredeck, and watch as the boat is sailing itself, just like I trimmed it, and I have this overwhelming experience. I see the boat, heeled over with the sails full, and me and the boat are jostling quickly over the light choppy waves, and the sun's light is still noticeable in the orange western sky, and the full moon is rising around to my left, and the fishy breeze is cool on my skin, and a dramatic opera of lights upon the sea surround me, and I wonder, very clearly, "How is it I've come to this point in my life? This spot, this time, this beautiful boat and overwhelming experience. How is this boat doing this? How am I doing this? ... Did I make all my decisions throughout my life simply to come to this point? It is perfect."

I sail through the deepening evening. The moon, completely full, meets me. And I can see the lights of Apollo Beach about two miles off my starboard bow.

WHAM!!! SCRATCH!!!!!

"What the--?!" I exclaim. I've hit something in the water, under me.

I look back, but don't see anything. I shine the flashlight all around as I keep Empty Pockets on course. Nothing. But then I wonder... I step forward and shine the flashlight down into the cabin. Water everywhere! Oh my god!

I set the steering wheel and sails again, pointing toward Apollo Beach as close as I can. (The wind is coming FROM that direction.) I scramble down the companionway stairs and into the ankle-deep water. (The bilge is already full and is spilling out onto and over the floor, the cabin sole.) Soon the problem is identified. That same drive shaft is leaking again, but this time it's SPINNING, throwing water all around. My repairs from before have broken loose. The prop is obviously spinning on the other end of the shaft, outside the hull. I grab some line and tape and tie-off the shaft to stop the spinning. This greatly helps, but it's still leaking pretty bad. Two steady streams from below the shaft.

Wow, I must get back to the helm! ...I skip up the companionway and into the cockpit, over the starboard lazarette hatch, and to behind the wheel. Everything looks all right. Back down now. I jump back down there and start pumping. Whew, I didn't know I could pump so fast! Soon I have the water level down below the sole, and I jump over the companionway, into the cockpit again, and place my right foot on that starboard lazarette hatch and--CRACK!--the hatch has suddenly given way and slipped off, with my right foot along for the ride. The crack sound is my ankle breaking, obviously. Or the shout that went out from my lungs.

In a flash, I realize that I'm lying on my back directly behind the wheel. I'm holding my knee with both hands, and I may or may not be screaming. Another moment passes. I sit up, look around, and notice that I've accidentally tacked the boat, turning into the opposite direction as I had grabbed the wheel for support when I feel. Or I assume that's what happened.

I reach down with apprehension toward my ankle in the dark, expecting to feel bone marrow exposed and warm blood gushing freely. But... nothing. I grab the flashlight, which has suddenly appeared beside me, and shine it done to my ankle. Wow, it's really swollen, but that's it. I stand up, grabbed the jib sheet (control line) and try to tack back around to put us back on course.

Amazingly, I realize that I can put plenty of weight on the injured ankle and foot. I reset the boat's travel, and I shine the light below to see the water level holding steady. Sitting down again, I simply steer the boat toward shore, still a mile or two away.

Of course, the wind is dying.

10:30 PM... I call my friend and tell him I may need his help the next morning. He says he'll be ready.

I sail for another hour or so, before giving up with virtually no breeze, and still a half-mile from shore.

Then again, there was no chance that I would have tried to sail in the dark up the narrow channel which leads to the canals of Apollo Beach... against the wind, no less. So I drop sails and drop anchor. But then, a wind! Let's go! I raise sails, despite limping really badly now, and noticing an occasional crunch-crunch-crunch sound coming from my ankle. I pull up that damn heavy anchor line and anchor for the fourth time this day, and get back to the helm and... and... and the wind drops to nothing.

I think, "I must be crazy. My ankle is broken, my boat is sinking, and I want to get a little closer to the beach before I drop anchor for the night?!!!!"

So I anchor and I secure the sails. I go below and make more repairs, dragging my bum ankle and foot around like a useless appendage of wood or silt. The repairs work, and the leak is reduced to a drip again.

I take two aspirin and go to bed. Unconscious in the middle of Tampa Bay, you might say.

The next morning, I expected my foot to look like a footBALL, but the swelling was about the same as the evening before. The leak repairs are holding, and I go up into the sunshine as Empty Pockets rolls lightly in the pleasant breeze. Memorial Day weekend has begun, and this Saturday morning welcomes many boaters. Beercan Island isn't far away from me, and several boats are already there, readying for a weekend of partying. I call my friend, Radar, again, and, surprise-surprise, he is already in his boat and headed my way. I was going to tell him not to bother, but I don't have the courage. "Thank you," I say, and then wait.

After he tows me back to the Dolphin House, I tie-up, go take a shower, and Radar takes me to the store for groceries. It's good to have friends.

Thus... I have my boat. It's a mess, really. All the cushions are soaked, and lots of stuff "floated away" while it was aground over by St. Pete. But Empty Pockets is obviously a tough old Watkins sailboat. I may keep her. She seems to want me.

Finally, I don't think my ankle is broken. I did a little researching online, and am confident that, since I don't have constant pain, and since I can wiggle my toes and MOVE my ankle in all directions (with difficulty)... I am confident that I have very badly sprained my ankle, not broken it. Yet, as is, I may not be mobile for at least a couple of weeks. About the time my rent expires. ... Great.

PIIGS: The Beginning of the End for the World Economic System?

2010-05-12T09:47:00.004-05:00

When the normal guys start talking crazy, that's when I get REALLY nervous. There's always nay-sayers and contrarians and fringe personalities making money off of common fear, but as more mainstream commentators comment on possible DOOM, I am chilled:

What Brian Williams is mentioning is something called PIIGS in Europe. It stands for "Portugal Ireland Italy Greece Spain." More recently it may be indicated as PIIGGS, with the extra G for Great Britain. ... The term has been around for a while, but what it now infers is any European country with high government debt levels and an unsustainable economic reality. GREECE is the current big struggle, and is completely collapsing economically, and thus socially and fundamentally.

I am no expert, but I do my best to piece things together from various sources. I confess that I am a libertarian politically, which means, in one sense, that I do not believe government should be involved in the realm of business and economics, basically, but should be a small entity just as it was originally conceived in the U.S., with little interest in how we conduct our individual lives as long as we are just to each other. The government should have a capable military, an adequate court system, but generally these people who join the government of the U.S.A. should leave us all the hell alone.

Of course, today, the governments of the U.S. and virtually everywhere have become giant enterprises, more or less, and have taken over the role of the mafia and similar organized crime associations of the various cultures worldwide, banning such organizations while simultaneously collecting payment from individuals and threatening us all with violence, naming imprisonment. I find it remarkable that we've allowed ourselves to be so ridiculously dupped. Then again, I suppose it is all about the psychological force known as "the father." Each of us will always be the children of our parents, and we all, secretly, wish to be protected and cared-for by this "father entity." Food, shelter, love... So we vote HIM into power in the form of more government oversight and help, more entitlement, more and more and more... and finally we quietly cross a point of no return and get to a point at which the father can no longer realistically provide for us. The whole world is reaching this place. Greece is our future, it is being said.

Europe and the International Monetary Fund are now moving into action. ONE TRILLION DOLLARS (750 billion euros) are being spent to save Greece and stabilize the markets. Now, one of the amazing things about this is that Greece is a nation of only 11 million people, which is smaller than New York City or Los Angeles. Heck, my original hometown of Dallas/Fort Worth is over half that size. So what's the big deal about Greece?

Well, again, I lack technical knowledge here, but the idea is that ALL IS INTERCONNECTED in this world, economically. The construction of this worldwide, interconnected economic reality occurred throughout the 20th century. Let me explain. We had World War I, WWII, and we had all the horrors we could imagine became reality. The popular notion, then, was to connect all nations politically and especially economically, so that if one nation attacked another, it would AUTOMATICALLY "lose," because it was harming its own economy as it sought destruction of the other nation. It's like the Cold War. Mutually-guaranteed destruction: if the US attacked the USSR with nuclear weapons, the USSR would retaliate with nuclear weapons, and both nations would be destroyed.

In the end, this has basically WORKED. No world wars, just occasional incidents in small countries, in a sense, despite the very real loss of life in places like Vietnam. These days, the US cannot attack China, because we would destroy our economy, and vice-versa, and on and on.

But there is ONE FATAL FLAW, as I understand it, and which many are beginning to speak of. If one part of this daisy chain goes over the cliff economically, it starts pulling the other links of the chain over with it, or at least starts a gravitational force upon the rest of the long chain. Slowly, as this force is unrelenting, other chain links are pulled toward the precipice. And as these nations, one by one, fall over the cliff, they pull the rest of us over as well.

The EU and the IMF and the USA are attempting to save Greece, but there are "conditions" which Greece must meet. Greece must reduce the size of its government and associated payrolls and pensions, and must begin privatizing some of its health care system. Greece has for too long taken money out of the private sector and put it into government. The obvious observation by an American is, "Hey, aren't we going in the same direction?!" Yes we are. As we bail-out Greece and demand that it reduce its public sector, we are simultaneously increasing the size of our public sector and are removing more of the health care system from private hands. We are making ourselves into one of the PIIGGS.

But how long do we have before the images of rioting on TV are images of US cities? I do not know. Some say it could begin any ol' time now, but others say it'll be a couple of years, or any point in between, while others say that we are a special situation which is somewhat immune to such things.

I don't know. I am neither a sage nor a fortune-teller. But it looks very, very bad. The stimulus money is apparently going to be running-out soon. Many states have sustained their public institutions this past year only because of that stimulus entitlement. Without it, an array of public jobs and works will be unfunded further, likely leading to mass lay-offs around the country in the next year or so, or so I understand. And that public state consideration is only one small part of the disaster we face. The private foreclosure mess isn't any better, and at any time may move wholeheartedly into commercial real estate. The local malls will begin closing, and then supermarkets. And while some stores will certainly survive and even prosper perhaps, the growing closings of the local malls and whatnot will likely have profound psychological effects en masse upon the population.

ODD TIMING. For myself, I have fully accepted the life of the starving artist, and of living with little. I have realized that, in order to concentrate on serious art, I must abandon all the money-making infatuation I have, in a sense. I mean, in order to have a nice apartment and a nice car and a nice TV and a nice computer and ALL THAT (which IS all very nice, don't get me wrong) I MUST WORK MANY, MANY HOURS in whatever job I can get, whether it be as a waiter or a truck driver or a cook or a Disney caricature artist. Most people say, "Oh, that was so perfect, working at Disney, drawing cartoons all day... and you're able to pursue your favorite art when you get home." Wrong! When I would get home, I'd be exhausted, and go straight to the TV and the computer, and eat a meal, have a beer, whatever, RELAX. I did this for YEARS, and I see other artists doing the same thing. ... So what's the solution? For me, it's radical: quit everything, drop-out of everything, and just make serious art. I'm little above a homeless person, living on my little sailboat, wondering if I'll have money next week for food, but, at the same time, all I do for money is serious painting. I'm even giving-up pastel portraits. From now on, basically, I'll simply be exploring oil painting and the old masters. I'll sell my works wherever I can, to whomever I can, for whatever I can get. And that's enough to survive. For me, if there's any possible path to great art, this is it. Maybe others can overcome the allure of modern convenience, but I cannot. I must leave it all behind. ... Which brings me to this ODD TIMING. Just as I am learning to live with little, the whole world may soon be joining me. Odd, I think, in my odd mind.

So, as I learn to fish, and to live simply, and to create art, I tell everyone to not freak-out, to calm down, and don't worry yourself to death. Don't jump off any skyscrapers. ...We have our friends, we have family. In the long run, the encroaching global crisis, if fully realized, may serve to improve us and save us. We, as citizens of nations and of the planet, are learning lessons the hard way.

POSTSCRIPT :
I just noticed this video by fellow Texas and Libertarian Ron Paul... Helps explain things a bit more:

Cast Away

2010-04-25T12:43:00.003-05:00

I know it may sound ridiculous, but this is how I feel, and have felt, for much of my adult life: as if I've been cast away. And while the famous movie of the same name doesn't form a perfect metaphor, somehow it touches this most sore characteristic of my soul. You see, twice as a young man (once when 18 and once when 23) I had a girlfriend who I planned to marry, although things actually never got to the "engagement" period, technically. In each case, our love seemed strong and mutual, and in each case the girl was pretty and brainy. And then, again in each case, as our love seemed at its highest, and my imagination full of bliss, the end came with a simple conversation. Each girl gently and abruptly ended the entire thing, in a moment's flash. Stunning and devastating, in a moment's flash. Stunning and devastating, for my entire life.

After the second break-up, I feel ill FOR SIX WEEKS. It started within an hour of the break-up conversation, with vomiting and deep congestion, like the flu. And I was so weak I could barely stand or walk for several days, and I kept weeping involuntarily, over and over... ... I calculated, afterward, that I would not survive, physically, another such experience.

And so commenced a quarter century of haunted living. And I use that word carefully, HAUNTED. Unable to sleep, often, until the light of day reveals itself. Unable to communicate, or terrified to do so, and terrified to consider ANY friendship worthy of the risk. ... I even have a haunted home in my dreams, and when I say "home" I mean an actual structure, like someone's family home, except this one is completely fictional, or, that is, fictional in the sense that dreams are fictional. In my dreams, however, it seems utterly convincing, real. And what does this home look like? It looks like an immense old hotel, built snugly in some hills and at the edge of a busy little town. The hotel appears to be built in disjointed stages, over decades of time, with multiple-storied sections, and some sections following the steep edge of a hill. And the structure is so immense that it disappears upward around a hilly corner, into a blue-black mist. I have yet to explore the whole thing. In fact, most if it is a mystery to me. I've had many dreams in which I find myself back in the old thing, living there usually, finding more and more rooms and closets and stairways, hallways, all semi-lit, all semi-maintained, all completely frightful. These dreams are nightmares usually, and, usually, I REALIZE that it's a dream, that I'm back at the old hotel, my own personal family home, haunted and rotten and teeming with ghosts. And how do know there are ghosts? I SEE them, I hear them, feel them. ...Occasionally I find "real" people living there, and I wish them well as I hurriedly leave, or try to. Last year, I discovered that all my old friends from Orlando (in the real world) had moved into my dreamland haunted hotel. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "We've all moved in." "But it's haunted!" "Oh, don't be silly." A few months later, they all seemed to have left. I discovered this while I was walking in yet another dream, walking along a sidewalk, and came upon the old hotel. I walked around to the back, fascinated. I hadn't visited in a while. In the back, there's an old park-like area, with big trees and freely-living weeds, and then a forest and hills, all disappearing into that dark mist, and all virtually connected to the hotel, having grown into each other, I'd guess you'd say... the hotel crumbling, literally, plank by plank, out into the weeds and forest and up the hill, and the vegetation sprawling forcefully up, into, and over the structure. An old grain mill is back there too, attached by a breezeway to the hotel. Everything is abandoned. ... Then, in this dream, I look around, and I see three girls going into the back of the hotel, near the ruined mill. I follow them, and find that much of the hotel back there is ripped-out and torn-up. I ask the girls what they're doing here, and they said that they're college students and that they're renting a room. How comical! I laugh. I follow the girls to their room, but since the stairs have collapsed, and even some of the walls, we must CLIMB up along the edge. Basically, we're crawling over rubble, but then we're inside, me and the 3 girls, and we climb some more, this time up a few ladders, higher and deeper into the hotel. The sun glints through busted walls and roof sections, here and there, and I feel completely unafraid. When we arrive, I tell the girls, "Oh yes, this is my old room." "You used to live here?" "Of course. I own this whole place.... But I advise you to not go into the other rooms. I mean, I think everyone has left now, but, I'd hate for you to have a bad experience. It's hard to explain." "But we've already been through that one door, and out into that one long hallway." "Oh, my, I'd advise you to not do that, and to lock that door, and all other doors. I'm afraid to say it, but spirits live here." "Yes, we know." ... The girls moved-out the next day I think, to join everyone else who has abandoned my heart.

... I haven't visited in a while, but that old place, that old haunted hotel, still exists. It exists, and I can never really leave, because it is ME, my SOUL, and I suppose I should open the darkened doors and follow the long halls and climb the stairs and ladders, and explore the wretched thing. I do find it interesting.

Of course, other events and people have managed to further scar my heart over the years. My mother, while still supremely disappointed with me and my free-thinking ways and my troubled demeanor, died unexpectedly of heart failure when I was 27. I thought I had plenty of time to make her happy and proud, but no. Oddly, today, she might have become somewhat proud of me. She always wanted me to become an artist. At the time she died, I couldn't even draw... And I remember vividly, standing in the hospital room, with my weeping father and siblings behind me, and closing her eyes at the bequest of the ER doctor. "I'll do it," I said, with bizarre eagerness. I closed her eyes, her dry, cold eyes, as my eyes were dry and cold as well. Two weeks later, I left work, walked to my car, sat down into the seat, and found myself weeping for 15 minutes or so. I knew it was for her, and that was the one and only time, something I'm ashamed to admit, but something which is interesting to me as I view myself from afar. There's a key to my interior there.

And now it's April 2010. Remarkable. I'm still breathing. Still foolish. Still haunted. ...Terrified.

But back to Cast Away. I wrote down part of the epilogue speech, for it sums my thoughts right now:

"...So I made a rope, and I went up to the summit to hang myself...but I had to test it, you know, of course..."you know me'...And the weight of the log snapped the limb of the tree... I couldn't even kill myself, the way I wanted. I had power over nothing.

"...That's when this feeling came over me like a warm blanket. I knew, somehow, that I had to stay alive...somehow...I had to keep breathing...even though there was no reason to hope. And all my logic said that I would never see this place again."

"...So that's what I did. I stayed alive. I kept breathing...

"...And one day that logic was proven all wrong, because the tide came in, and gave me a sail... And now here I am. I'm back. In Memphis. Talking to you. I have ice in my glass...And I've lost her all over again... I'm so sad that I don't have Kelly, but I'm so grateful that she was with me on that island...

"...And I know what I have to do now... I gotta keep breathing. ...Because tomorrow the sun will rise... Who knows what the tide could bring."

I am no longer doing portraits

2010-04-23T22:10:00.004-05:00

How do I explain this? I do not know. I am a portrait artist who can no longer do portraits. ...

My goodness...

Why does suffering need to be a part of artistry? Why difficulty? I know not. I only know that, fundamentally, my portraits are all wrong, despite the courtesy of clients and man, despite the successful garnering of meager acclaim. It's all wrong. Something is wrong.

In fact, recently, I had a portrait rejection. My first. How can this be? ... Well, it BE because, some time ago, my heart left the effort... left the effort of portraiture TO MY POCKETBOOK.

If you only do something for money, it quickly becomes mediocre, or never arises from mediocrity, to begin any possible path toward greatness.

Aah, the perils of the starving artist.

Suddenly, Shakespeare

2010-04-23T21:46:00.002-05:00

I came across this sonnet tonight, after having not read (or EVER really appreciated) Shakespeare, and this sonnet STRUCK me with clarity and great force. I've long hoped for understanding of Shakespeare, or, really, I've long hoped that I would gather the forces of my self and LEARN Shakespeare and "get" it... Maybe this is a beginning...

Indeed, the permanent concerns of the human soul, or heart, are certainly permanent, or timeless... Ah, the considerations of felt being... of being itself.

( And I took the liberty of adding punctuation here, and parenthetical references..., punctuation which tells how I "hear" the sonnet, how I see it at this point... not necessarily how it is MEANT to be read... Maybe it'll help you... I don't know. But read this thing, read it carefully, slowly, and take the words deeply inward, if possible)... :

SONNET 29

When, in disgrace... with fortune (money) and (in) men's (society's) eyes,

I, all alone... beweep my outcast state
And (I) trouble "deaf Heaven" with my bootless (bare-footed? as in, poor) cries
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me, like... to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him (a successful and happy individual perhaps)... with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and (/or) that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy, (I am) contented least;
Yet in these thoughts... myself, almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark (of a bird) at break of day, arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd... such wealth brings
That then I scorn... to change my state with kings.

A variety of art this month...

2010-04-04T00:53:00.003-05:00

A friend of mine LOVES the Florida Gators, and wanted an oil painting of their cartoon logo, but then he also said he wanted a basketball to be in the painting. I suggested I paint a basketball sitting on a court, and try to make it look like the logo was ON the ball. I'm happy with the result. 24" X 18" OIL ON CANVAS:

This is the continuation of that pump house mural:

Stencil I drew and then cut for an abandoned project:

Swimsuit model in oil on wood panel, just for kicks (or $40, whichever come first!). 24" X 20":

And a Florida panther in oil on wood panel. I still have this, and will part with it for 25 bucks! 24" X 11":

Finally... A Real Cruising Boat

2010-04-04T00:40:00.006-05:00

Finally, I've obtained a real cruising sailboat, and it's all mine, with a clear title and no loans. All mine! It's a Watkins 27, with a 10-foot width (and 27-ft length), and goes by the name of Empty Pockets. Needs a lot of TLC, but the sails and rigging seem to be good. No motor, nor electronics, and it's been basically stripped otherwise, but it's HOME.

A view from the bed. Aaahh, pretty feet:

And the opposite view, near the little galley:

Art of the last few months

2010-02-16T10:50:00.004-05:00

I'm using the library computer (but now I've come back and edited the images so that they're upright). ... That first one is my return to pastel. If anyone wants one, 75 bucks!
...

The next one here is an oil I did of some dear friends of mine. They wanted a ship's wheel AND their sailboat in the background. I'm not altogether satisfied at the result:

And here I am hard at work on an oil last Christmas. That black-n-white girl in the background is a charcoal on newsprint.

Latest oil:

And I'm doing murals, finally. Well, a few, for almost nothing. Here's my first, a swimming pool pump house:

And that's that for now. I'm in the process of losing my boat and simply moving into my van. Ouch. Very broke, be I. If anyone wants any art, let me know! lol

Alive and living on Ramen

2010-01-21T13:33:00.001-05:00

Howdy, everyone. I haven't updated my blog, or even been ONLINE at all, in nearly 6 months. I got stuck in Tampa last summer, and have been living on my sailboat, and doing lots of oil portraits, and now a pastel or two. Basically, I've been starving, living on noodles, but learning much about portrait technique. I'll post photos of everything soon, and give more details.

Dark Emotions

2009-08-18T00:39:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure of the meaning of this, but over the last week or so, I've been experiencing a kind of despair. I'm in the middle of moving...somewhere....because...in Orlando, over the last few months, I have neither made much money nor worked on serious art, so I decided to leave (as I've noted in previous posts). Generally, I'm headed to Key West. I have my van and my sailboat, but I may sell the van and then later buy a car in the Keys, or maybe I'll buy a big sailboat, a real liveaboard... and get a wife and raise some kids... yeah, right.

But I have another opportunity, if I wish. I've discovered an atelier in Miami. I could live on my boat, sell some art by the side of the road, and study traditional, serious art at the atelier over the next few years. ...Or something like that...

I have competing desires and possibilities, and this leaves me with despair. And I'm having nightmares again, and regrets.

Nightmares and the associated "waking visual and auditory hallucinations" are a big part of my life which have almost completely wrecked me at times, but I never mention them. It's a deep horror for me, and I simply don't tell anyone... so maybe it's time I did, here, briefly. In a real way, this aspect of my soul has destroyed any kind of normal life. From a young boy onwards, I've been terrorized by all this. As the years have passed, I have, indeed, calmed somewhat. But stressful times renew the demons. And dreadful nights, followed by haunted days, ensue.

So I go to the sea, where I seem to sleep well. I don't know why.

I go to the sea... this week.

.

Kruger No Longer Doing Caricatures?

2009-08-02T11:23:00.002-05:00

I've mentioned this before, but today I found this on www.sebastiankruger.org:

"Krüger considers himself a portrait painter. Although many of his early commission jobs were for cartoons and caricature type images, Krüger’s free time was dedicated to his greatest love, portrait painting. In 2005 Krüger made the decision to discontinue painting cartoon or caricature-like genre commissions. Nowadays Krüger mostly paints for himself or creates commissioned pieces for private collectors."

...Hmm... I bet he still plays around with caricaturing when he's doodling... It's simply too much fun...

My Philosophy

2009-08-01T13:51:00.006-05:00

(This is an article from the 1970's, but it captures my philosophy quite well. Perhaps it will help explain my decisions and my longing... In my upcoming move, I'm planning a lot more than just "moving to Key West." I have ideas beyond simply making money from tourists: I want to live a certain lifestyle which combines my previous experiences with sailing, camping, travel, simplicity, sleeping under the stars, becoming fit naturally, meeting new people, learning new languages... I long to live an extraordinary life... The canoe mentioned in the article is just one type of vessel which is possible for such a life. My open sailing dinghy, which I'm converting into a small trimaran, is another. The point is, the vessel is cheap and very seaworthy.... Yes, I think this article explains ME better than I do.... My desire to live modestly and fully, to live my days reading and drawing, learning, and seeing the world. I dare you to read the whole article! --Tim)

From Mother Earth News. Link:

http://www.motherearthnews.com/Nature-Community/1977-01-01/Live-On-Less.aspx

The Endless Vacation or How to Live Very Well on Practically Nothing
By
Ida Little

It's that time of the year again. The time when early winter's crispness and the novelty of those first downy snowfalls rapidly begins to turn into the monotonous, gray, icy sludge and slush of late January, February and early March.

Wouldn't it be great to trade this whole mess in on kind of carefree, come-and-go-as-you-please, beachcombing life in the tropics? Wouldn't that be great!? Impossible, of course, here in the late 1970's, but, nonetheless, great!

"Yes, it is great," say Ida and Barry Little, "but not at all impossible. Because that's exactly the way we've lived for the past three years, and we've done it all on far less money than you'll probably believe possible!"

My husband, Barry, and I enjoy independent and isolated nomadic living. So we really thought we had it made 11 years ago when we kicked over the traces, bought a 40-foot ketch, and began island hopping up and down the West Indies and along the northern coast of South America.

Eight years later, however, we'd both had our fill of that way of life. The ketch was a constant expense and every safe anchorage for a boat of that size, we'd found, was too populated by curious natives and/or other ships and yachts for our tastes.

"There must be a better way," we told ourselves. "There must be a way for us to enjoy an endless round of sailing, swimming, fishing, shelling, contact with wildlife, and — most important of all — solitude and privacy. And there must be a way for us to do all this on little more than pennies a day."

WE FOUND A WAY!

And that's exactly what we've done for the past three years. We've come and gone as we pleased throughout the Caribbean with summer side-trips that have taken us as far north as Ontario's Wilderness Lakes region. We've sailed and swum and snorkled and fished and shelled and beachcombed and otherwise luxuriated in the wonders of some of the earth's most beautiful places. And we've done all this for day after wonderful day after glorious day. In blissful solitude and privacy. And on the very thinnest of thin shoestrings.

Our secret? We've combined the advantages of land camping with the mobility of sail, and come up with a way of life that, for us, has none of the irritations or drawbacks of either.

THE KEY TO OUR SUCCESS

We made the major breakthrough into our new life of low-cost and far-ranging abundance when we sold our 40-foot ketch (which was a constant financial drain and which would never slip into the really isolated bays, inlets, and shoals we like to explore anyway), and bought a 17-foot canoe instead.

Yes, canoe. Barry and I have traveled in and lived out of a canoe now for almost every day of the last three years. And we wouldn't trade our new life for anything. There are canoes and there are canoes, however, and if you want to duplicate our success, we think you'd do well to heed our advice when you go shopping for this vital piece of your wayfarer's equipment.

The most common and least expensive canoes available are made of aluminum. Forget such models for extended cruising. They're cold to the flesh, noisy on the water, too fragile for use around coral, and difficult to repair in the field. Fiberglass is warmer and quieter, but still too prone to coral punctures and sand abrasion. And wood, while quite good, needs more regular maintenance than we're willing to give it.

What you want is a canoe made of ABS plastic. Ours is a 17-foot Chippewa model (that we've fondly named Manatee, or "sea cow") made up for us by Mr. Deane Gray of the Old Town Canoe Company in Old Town, Maine. It weighs only 70 pounds, is warm to sit on and is tough.

At one time or another during the past three years, we've used a crane to pick the canoe up by the ends when it was fully loaded with 1,000 pounds of gear, left it out all night (again, fully loaded) banging against sharp coral reefs, and otherwise "put Manatee through the mill." Yet the little craft still shows only minor dents and scratches and has, to date, required absolutely no maintenance.

What's more, our ABS canoe wouldn't sink even if we could somehow manage the impossible and break her into little pieces (this particular variety of plastic always floats). And if we ever do find a way to make a major dent or puncture in Manatee's hull, we'll simply repair it — quickly, easily and right in the field — with a little kit of supplies that Old Town included when we bought the boat.

Our 17-foot Chippewa is also versatile. It has the highest bow (25") and the most center freeboard (15") of any commercially available canoe. We ordered Manatee with a full deck cover of rubberized dacron and a 55-square-foot lateen sail. If we have to, we can take the ole girl out on days when wind and waves occasionally bring a moderate amount of water over the bow, and, in calmer weather, we've used the sail to move us hundreds upon hundreds of miles without spending a nickel on an engine or fuel and without once dipping an oar into the water. And when we get to where we're going, the two of us — with no additional help — can lift the tiny boat and slide or roll it onto a beach.

In short, we owe most of our newfound freedom to our little 17-foot ABS canoe. Thanks to the craft, we can come and go as we please while "the sea supports the load, and the wind moves it along." Manatee allows us (unlike land-based backpackers) to indulge in unlimited nomadic travel without once suffering back strain. Without, in fact, even having to "paddle our own canoe," except for the few times when we've foolishly let dying trade winds leave us stranded some distance offshore.

And the price is certainly right! We never spend a penny for an engine or fuel, and Manatee only cost us S1,000 (as opposed to the $15,000 we were set back by the purchase of our 55-year-old 40-foot ketch). Surely this canoe is the best investment we've ever made.

We spent the first couple of months that we owned Manatee just practicing the art of sailing her. And we quickly learned that, although the little canoe carried only 55 square feet of sail, she responded with a great deal more sensitivity than our former ketch (with its 1,000 square feet of sail) had ever done. It was a struggle, in fact, to keep from capsizing our new boat in the beginning!

A little practice, though, soon taught us the fingertip control we needed, and it wasn't long before we were both maneuvering Manatee in and out of impossibly tight situations with a deft touch.

THE LOCK THAT FITS THE KEY

Once we had a boat — which told us how much we could carry — we began to think about choosing our main cruising grounds, which would tell us what to carry.

That choosing wasn't really too difficult. Barry and I both loved the long white beaches, clear water and abundance of sea life among the bright coral reefs of the Bahama Islands. A few afternoons in the library, spent, in large part, poring over Harry Kline's Yachtman's Guide to the Bahamas and other references to the geography and climate of these islands — was all we needed to help us make up our minds.

Contrary to what most outsiders think, the 700 or so islands in the Bahamas are mostly dry, barren, and deserted. Most of the people who live there have migrated to the cities of Nassau and Freeport and to a few small settlements on what are popularly referred to as the "Out Islands". This was just fine with us since it meant that we'd find plenty of solitude as we cruised the Bahamas.

We also knew we'd be able to do that cruising in comfort since, as we learned to our joy, the temperature of the Bahamas averages 77 degrees (just right for stripping down to birthday suits!) during the winter months.

And we figured we could cruise the Bahamas in safety, since most of the islands lie so close together that, as it's turned out, we can hop right down the whole string of beaches with only a couple of "dangerous" 30-mile-long passages to negotiate. Most of the time, we do our sailing while hugging one shore or another and darting in as we desire for a closer look at interesting items on the beach. (If you've ever been forced to stand a half mile off a coast while cruising in a deep-draft boat, you'll understand, and probably envy—the freedom our little canoe gives us.) The Bahamas are ideal for this kind of small craft island hopping.

CAMPING, COOKING AND LIVING EQUIPMENT

As soon as we decided that we'd be spending most of our time canoeing up and down the Bahamas, we began assembling the equipment we'd need to make ourselves as self-sufficient as possible under the conditions we'd find in those islands.

Although any tent is better than none, I suppose, we've found that only the lightest, tightest and roomiest is good enough for our nomadic way of life. Spend what you have to, but get the best you can buy.

We started out with a two-person tent but, since we live in such a shelter year-round, soon determined that we needed something bigger, something with enough room for a "library" and "playroom"! We finally settled on a four-person, insect-proof model that weighs only five pounds and packs into a roll which measures just six inches in diameter and 12 inches long. It was manufactured by our friends, the Stephenson family (22 Hook Road, Gilford, New Hampshire 03249), and we recommend it highly. .

A stainless steel grill, a small stove (for those woodless and rainy climes), a set of nesting aluminum pots, a large frying pan, four 5-gallon water containers (salvaged from alleyways behind hospital laboratories), a plastic water bed for additional storage (remember, it's dry in the Bahamas!), and miscellaneous knives, forks, spoons, cups, plates, etc., make up our kitchen gear. This, plus a small typewriter, a camera, film, paper, books, charts of the islands and our copy of Kline's Guide, cost us about $500 altogether and is all kept stored in a big ice chest.

Our initial stock of dried soup, powdered juices, milk, sugar, flour, yeast, rice, oatmeal, grits, cooking oil, coffee, spices, Wagner's tea, rum and other foodstuffs ate up another S150 of our original grubstake and was stowed — their replacements still are — in two duffel bags. (And don't make the mistake of limiting yourself to some sort of self-imposed Spartan diet that you don't really enjoy if you do take up our type of nomadic life. You're out to have fun, remember, not to "rough it" or "prove" anything.)

And then there's our diving equipment: snorkels, masks, fins, spears, Hawaiian slings (which propel the spears like arrows) and wet suits. All of which cost us another $250.

We already had most of the clothes we wear (nothing fancy, since we live so casually), bedrolls and other miscellaneous items that we use from day to day. We probably spent only an additional $100 or so stocking up on such gear when we embarked upon our new life.

Everything considered — canoe, tent, cooking accoutrements, food, diving equipment, books, typewriter, clothes, etc. — we didn't tie up any more than about $2,000 in "fresh" money when we took up our cruising existence.

SOJOURNS, VEGETABLES AND BARTER

Although I've stressed the nomadic elements of our life, Barry and I don't really cruise all the time. As the mood strikes us, we like to settle down on one or another of the many tiny, remote cays (pronounced "keys") in our islands for three or four months at a stretch. We may, of course, use our canoe for short excursions almost every day during one of these periods, but we really aren't going anywhere important and we know that we'll be back to spend the night at our semi-permanent home.

The only fresh water we have during one of these sojourns is the supply we collect in little potholes (which we dig) from passing rain squalls. And, despite the fact that there's never much loose soil on our tiny Bahama atolls, I like to scrape up what I can and put it into a five-foot by three-foot by ten-inch-deep plastic box for a garden. I mix dead leaves and pine needles into the sandy dirt to raise its acidity and plant carrots, tomatoes, squash, green peppers and lettuce (none of which are ever worth the effort) and either Chinese or Jersey Wakefield cabbages (which, if watered daily and shaded from the mid-day sun, mature in two months, but never head). Someday I'm going to learn how the natives grow such nice pineapples, sweet potatoes, cassava, guava, sugar cane, sours (local oranges), peppers and other fruits and vegetables down here.

Then again, maybe it's better if I just let the folks who know about farming take care of the fruits and vegetables while Barry and I concentrate on spearfishing. Many of the people we meet while cruising are afraid of the water and only too glad to accept a few of our fish and lobsters in trade for sweet potatoes that melt in the mouth, tomatoes which are a meal in themselves, and other homegrown taste delights. Barter wins again!

MONEY AND HOW WE GET IT

Barter or no, there are times when we find ourselves in need of a little ready cash, and we have two main ways to scratch that itch.

First, we freelance articles and photographs (just like the article and photos you're now looking at) about the free and easy life we enjoy. And, second, we've become skilled enough at diving for spiny lobsters to work with local Bahamian divers for $5.00 an hour. Neither of these pastimes earns us an overwhelming amount of money, but then we live modestly and there aren't many 7-11 stores to tempt us into spending our few shekels out on the cays.

A TYPICAL DAY

Our main dietary staple is fish and, cruising or stopped, we dive and spearfish two hours every day. (When cruising, we always make camp around 2:00 p.m. so we'll have plenty of time to go out and hunt up our supper from the nearest reef. We just roll Manatee up on a beach with the help of a couple of boat bumpers — inflatable cylinders 20" long by 6" in diameter — and unload all our gear except for the diving equipment. Then we sail to a likely looking reef — it's easy to see the orange coral, purple sea fans and yellow fish through the clear water — and get on with our fishing.)

Diving twenty or thirty feet to search the intricate coral for fish and crawfish always rewards us with enough food for both supper and the next day's lunch. So we return to camp, pull Manatee up above the high-tide line, and park the canoe under a coconut or casuarina pine tree. Then either I fillet and cook the evening meal while Barry pitches the tent, or vice versa. (We take turns so that each of us will always appreciate what the other is doing.)

About that time, we might take a break to play a game of "Go" or write letters or take a walk along the beach to watch an osprey do its afternoon hunting. By the time the sun goes down, we're relaxing in our hammock and enjoying a ritual round of rum-lime cocktails and peanuts.

As the twilight darkens, we move into the tent, bringing with us the fried grouper steaks from the grill. Dinner by candlelight then follows as a sea gull outside the shelter delights in her feast of fresh fish carcass. Finally, a few pages of a Conrad adventure sets the mood for pleasant dreams.

"But don't you ever get bored?" we're often asked.

No, we don't. We both entertain ourselves easily alone and together. We both sail Manatee, dive, cook, read, write, play "Go" and chess, take pictures and watch and sometimes tame the mockingbirds that live on the cays we visit.

Our little boat takes us off the beaten path to uninhabited and ill-charted islands that no one else ever visits. And, once Manatee is securely beached and our tent is pitched in the shade of an Australian pine, we're free to explore untrod beaches to our hearts' content, free to take all the time we want delighting in the shells, birds and other little treasures we find. If anything, the days are a little too short.

WE LOVE IT! MAYBE YOU WOULD TOO

If the days are never quite long enough, though, we love 'em just the same. Perhaps because we're living exactly the way we please, with as much solitude, privacy and sea-washed sand as we can possibly enjoy.

And, whenever we do get lonesome for other humans or want to replenish our stock of bartered or store-bought food, we're never more than a short, refreshing sail from a small and friendly settlement. It's no trick at all to pick up the latest news, a little gossip and all the provisions we want, and be back on our own private little cay that same day. Ain't life wonderful!

Perhaps you'd like to carve out such a free and easy existence for yourself too. And I see no reason why you shouldn't be able to do exactly that, if you can come up with the necessary original (and quite reasonable) grubstake, you can learn to handle a sailing canoe like ours, and you're physically up to our camping/fishing/swimming/diving/beachcombing way of life. Practice until you're as adept on the water as we are, figure out a way to supply yourself with at least as much money as the minute income we get by on, and give our "endless vacation" a try.

Come on in! The (Bahama) water's fine!

An Explanation

2009-07-30T11:31:00.005-05:00

You know... I have completely explained myself in previous posts. I've explained that I've NEVER BEEN HAPPIER than when I sailed away in my sailboat. That is a powerful statement, don't you think? Why should anyone deny me that life? I've never been a better person than then. For the first time in my life, I was succeeding. I've tried to explain the beauty of that life, short as it was, and I've tried to explain how horrified I was to be "sucked back into" my old life. (It's more complicated than that, but I won't go into details.)

I never should have looked back.... I should have kept going, sailing south, nursing my broken sailboat to the Keys, and sold my art to the tourists... as was my plan.

But my plan had had so many difficulties... Man... And one of the main ones was that I was under the impression that I wouldn't be allowed to sell my art in Key West at the place I'd intended to do so, at the daily art festival in Mallory Square. Difficulties...

I had a weak moment, and the next thing I knew I was in Orlando, a landlubber again.

And then, LAST WEEK happened to me. Back here in Orlando, languishing with little work and little pay at the height of the tourist season, the IRS came after me. They levied my pay, and without a little help from my sister Diane, and a small pay advance from my friend Barbie, I'd be living on the street right now. Or in my van, specifically. ...In the end, the IRS backed-off, and all is well for the moment. But the whole episode gave me pause. At one point last week, as I was driving home from one of the IRS meetings, my van blew-out another tire... right there on Interstate 4 in downtown Orlando during evening rush hour. Wow. I sat there in my van, knowing I didn't have a spare tire, and I thought, "Something must change. This life isn't working."

The kicker is, since I've been back to Orlando and rejoined the legions of caricature artists in this town, I have found myself virtually unable to do any serious art. I've been working on one particular oil portrait for FIVE MONTHS, messing with it here and there, but too distracted by this city life to really "get into it." Back on the boat, art was my total life.

Let me say that again. Back on the boat, art was my total life. That is, unless I was sailing. Man, what a life. Hard, to be sure, but I've never been better at anything than I was at that life, in a sense, in my mind, and that's what counts. I had no TV, no computer, but I was active and getting resourceful and independent, and I was getting quite thin and tanned and strong, and I spent my hours reading and painting and watching the dolphins, and planning the next voyage. ...Then I made a bad decision and ended-up stuck up a Tampa Bay canal for the winter, unable to make money, not in the Keys, hating myself... And I limped back to Orlando in February, relieved at first, but quickly falling into the dissatisfaction and distraction I remembered.

And now, back in Orlando, I've nearly completed my return to chubbiness, pale skin and weak knees, so to speak.

And so... After last week, as I reviewed everything, I contacted again the folks down in Key West, and I learned that while caricature artists are not accepted at their daily art festival (too many apply already), other artists are encouraged to come and sell their work. I had totally misunderstood the deal last year.

So... Enough is enough. My best life awaits me. Next week is my last week in Orlando.

...And that is my attempt at an explanation.

Another AK Day

2009-07-28T19:48:00.002-05:00

Finished that one from last night, just for fun:

Cute kid:

Missed the guy's head shape. I blame the blinding glare I suffer with there. LOL.

Still Some Disney Money to be Made...

2009-07-27T23:36:00.003-05:00

OK, so next week is my last week, and I'm hoping to make some money. Yesterday (Sunday) was a good start, working a double and grossing nearly a thousand bucks, of which I get about $300. And tonight I had an easy shift at a hotel, and I just relaxed, feeling happy, feeling confident and content in my decisions. Haven't felt that way in a LONG time.

Here's something funny I was working on tonight, sitting at the stand... I'd seen a lady who looked mean and sad simultaneously, and I tried to remember her and draw her, but I ended-up drawing a lady who looks Indian to me. Interesting. Will finish and post.

And here's just a simple caricature, but it seemed to pop to me, to feel right, to be exaggerated just so slightly and perfectly, so I snapped a pic. It was a good likeness.

It's Official, I'm Headed to The Keys

2009-07-25T15:46:00.002-05:00

I've had a crazy, stressful week, the worst week of my life almost, but I fought back, and the week is ending with terrific news. I have an opportunity in The Keys which is the stuff of my dreams. Will elaborate later.

Jackson caricature, 4B pencil

2009-07-19T22:50:00.003-05:00

Not really finished yet, and I made some irreversible mistakes, but it has some good qualities, I think.

Durkin Caricature

2009-07-15T23:27:00.006-05:00

I'm really enjoying learning to use graphite. Seems like I would've learned it before, but my art education has been anything but normal. Really, however, what I've actually been learning lately is how light falls across forms, and is defined by shadows. Graphite, or anything else, is just a medium to an end. ...Fun! ...I think I've drawn Kenny (Durkin) from his photo in Keelan's book about 20 times now, over the last five years. LOL

Selling the Mutineer

2009-07-12T17:31:00.002-05:00

So I'm selling the 15-foot sailing dinghy that I just bought a few weeks ago. The price is $600, which is the same price I paid for it. If anyone is interested, let me know. It's on Craigslist, as well. It's Chrysler Mutineer 15, with an almost-new trailer. The boat needs a little TLC, but not much. ....With the money, I am buying a little time in Orlando. Hopefully, things will pick-up for me here, financially.

Cannot Afford Orlando...

2009-07-11T11:14:00.002-05:00

...Well, it's boiling down to this: I cannot make enough money to afford to stay in Orlando. ...

It's funny, because it's a surprise. I've been so concentrated on my art and my ever-changing tangle of thoughts, that the fact that I'm BROKE week-in and week-out, and the implications of this, has eluded me in a practical sense... in a sense. I mean, I have varying motivations which sometimes tug at me forcefully, and I express my fantasies outright, like sailing around the world in a dinghy or whatever, but when it comes down to not getting enough work, and realizing that the busy season is almost over, man, I wonder, how did this happen? It's hitting me all-of-a-sudden, in a way. I've thought about it a bit, but not on a practical level. And here's the practical level: my check tomorrow will be for $260 for a week's work during the height of the tourist season. After I pay $180 for rent, that leaves me 80 bucks for EVERYTHING else, gas, food, supplies, etc. That's the practical level.

...You know, when I paid 600 bucks for that dinghy a few weeks ago, it seemed all was fine. I was still confused by so many things (and still am, not the least of which is my own fickle soul) but money and whatnot seemed fine. But that has faded. I live by myself in a more expensive place now, and I still do not have a full-time schedule with the company through which I contract. I know they are doing their best to satisfy everyone, so I don't blame anyone but myself, really. Somehow I am not "fitting in"in Orlando anymore, not making money, surviving week to week, and I've lost the respect of some very nice people, I think. Ahh... I suck.

...Oh, well... Let's see. The practical level. Let's think about this. The busy season will end in a few weeks, and, in fact, the park hours start trending downward in two weeks from now. That's the secret signal, in my estimation... fewer guests, less money. ...Hmm... And if I'm going to live this life of an artist in Orlando, I wish to have an apartment of my own, alone. Hmm, let's think. I could get married, but that would mean I'd need to find a girlfriend first, and, man, that is HARD to do for me, so... LOL. (Of course, if I can't take care of myself NOW, how would I expect to start marriage and a family. Practical stuff here.) I have $123 in cash in my pocket, and about thirty bucks in the bank... and I owe the IRS $10,000, or so they say. (It's MY money I work for, so why do they think it's THEIRS? Bizaare.) That's the practical level.

...THE BIG DAY:

...OK... So I'm thinking about this, all of this, and how lonely I feel in Orlando, even with "loose friendships" of a sort, and so, then, on Thursday I drive down to Apollo Beach for THE BIG DAY. The BIG DAY is the day I planned to clean-out the remaining mess of my stuff from Wind Song, my Islander 24 sailboat at dock down there, and sign over the title to my friend Radar.
So I get down there, and clean-out the boat. It takes hours. And, you know what happened: my heart was broken. Here was the only home I'd owned since leaving home when I was 18. And here I was abandoning it. ...Yet, I continued to clean. But I didn't finish before dark, so I decided to stay on the boat for the night. The next morning, I worked another 4 hours or so, hauling EVERYTHING out of the Islander and up to my van. (My van is now FULL of all that junk.) Whew! A good workout. (I will NEVER put that much stuff in a sailboat again!) And I indeed did get it all out.
....So the BIG DAY turned into TWO BIG DAYS, and somewhere in the middle of it, I told my friend Radar, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I have the ability to give you this boat yet." And he said, "Yeah, I knew that was gonna happen. No problem."
....So I still have the boat. I've had her for two years nearly, and lived in her for most of one year. She tugs at my heart. She saved me from certain death last year when we got caught in a gale. I've neglected her, and yet there she sits at the dock, eager still for me to join her. She tells me, "Come on, Tim, let's go. The world awaits us." Ah, ah, well, well... What to do?

...

So I sit here alone in my apartment again, back in Orlando, counting my meager funds and hopeless situation. One more bad week and I won't be able to stay in the apartment. It almost happened THIS week, in fact. I could sleep in the van again, but a closed van in July in Orlando is an impossible-to-sleep thing. I would be forced to go sleep on the boat in Apollo Beach, but that is too far to commute. I still have that dinghy I bought a few weeks ago, so I suppose I'll sell it. But that's a stopgap (assuming I CAN sell it). Without a fulltime contracting gig, I can't stay here in Orlando, and am NOT working fulltime lately. Of course, as the season ends...
So, what to do, what to do...? Hmm... I may be coming to a decision very soon...or being forced to do so.

Numb

2009-07-08T11:11:00.003-05:00

I know, I know, this is just a silly video about a teenage girl, yet somehow it has always had a strong effect on me. The theme of being an artist (or simply being a human) who doesn't connect with ANYONE is powerful in the context of my personal history, and I find the Linkin Park music compelling.

Linkin Park- Numb

Bad Caricature

2009-07-07T21:16:00.002-05:00

I went crazy on Sarah a couple of weeks ago, but, you know, while this is a crazy and creative caricature that some people said they really like, and I kinda like, it is, really, a bad caricature. It's bad because I did not exaggerate Sarah's big beautiful grin, but I exaggerated an IDEA of a big crazy grin, like an animal's growl or something. While it may be kinda cool, it has nothing to do with Sarah. Bad caricature. (CLICK TO ENLARGE.)

Mr. P

2009-07-06T23:33:00.002-05:00

Sketch I did today while sitting at Wilderness Lodge.

Pastel Again

2009-07-02T18:48:00.004-05:00

First pastel work since last year. Hard. A young Drew Barrymore from a bad reference photo. She has some crazy asymmetry going on. I think I was able to capture a lot of what I remember about her back then, but the photo I was using online sucked, all washed-out. I did my best to guess at the subtle shadows and features, but I don't think I quite got her.

Sketching to get customers...

2009-06-26T19:18:00.008-05:00

( A little more finished):

(Early stage):

(Small photos make for big mistakes):

Just sitting around at a caricature stand is no fun, so I recently decided to do graphite portraits of the faces in Keelan's book. People see me working on the "pencil portrait" in my lap, and say "Ah, that's beautiful, and for only twenty bucks?" And I say, "Well, no, actually, this is a portrait sketch, which is somewhat different from the cartoon sketches we do here, like this..." ...and I show 'em a caricature I've done. This usually gets business going. The problem is, I worry that someone might say, "Hey, you're trying to trick me!" But all I've gotten so far is positive result, although people will sometimes say, "But could you PLEASE draw my kids like that, in a real portrait?" I just tell 'em that it's not allowed, but also that it would take most of an hour, and that I'd have to charge $75 or more, even if it was allowed, and then I explain that, no, I can't give them my phone number or email or anything, by contract. Which sucks, of course, since I see SOOO many people everyday. But I think that's standard practice. ... Anyway, everyone seems happy. I give 'em CC's business card and write my name on back, if they persist.

The photo here is a recent example. About a half-hour of work, so it's a bit rough looking, and has errors, but, boy, the other day, people were really stopping in their tracks to see me work on it in my lap. I mean, the thing is, this sort of sketching is REALLY slow. I'm just going scratch-scratch-scratch with the pencil lead, slowly working-up toward the right values. But that's the point. Slowly observe, scratch-scratch-scratch, build-up the values, learn-learn-learn. It's an inefficient process if you want to make any kind of decent money doing portraits, I would think. Although I suppose I need the money. If anyone DOES want one of these, just let me know. 75 bucks.

....The main thing is, this is simply good practice.

Today at Animal Kingdom

2009-06-21T20:44:00.005-05:00

Without a doubt, today was the hottest day EVER at AK for me. I don't know the actual temperature, but the rare breeze was HOT in my face. And being the gentleman I am (no snickering!) I let the two FEMALES with me use the only two fans we had. Whew! I sweated. ...I think all the guests went back to their hotel rooms, to the AC. We were VERY slow. So we got to draw each other and produce some FINE ART! (So to speak, lol..)...

I call this "SARAH LOVES HER NOSE":

And here's a sighting of the rare Monkey Boy:

Next, we have what I call (using a French accent)"Peachy and Sarah at the Beach" :

And, finally, Keelan meets his match:

Animal Kingdom

2009-06-17T23:26:00.004-05:00

Getting my mojo back, a little... That is, getting some confidence back... Today at Animal Kingdom:

Dennis and a friend of mine:

...And I learned a trick today. If you're an artist who is shy (like me), you can just say, "Hey, let me take a quick photo of this drawing," and then take the pic, but furtively include the model as well... :

And then a typical mermaid:

The bad thing is, this was a great likeness. Wish I'd gotten a pic of the model.

Some Art, Finally

2009-06-16T18:43:00.004-05:00

Some caricatures from today, live at Disney. I put away my pencil and did these with marker only, trying to increase my speed:

A "Bikini Babe," cute but a bad likeness, and some bad proportions (and she HAD to have her dog in it, lol):

A Face Only, not too bad a likeness, and she wanted to be making a "peace" sign:

Three sisters. The father said to not write their names, and he really loved the result.

And then one just for fun, from yesterday. I saw a forlorn fellow, harried among the chaos of All-Star Sports Resort's crowds of children and weeping..., so I drew him from memory, imagining his plight:

Surprise Surprise

2009-06-15T22:06:00.002-05:00

As Jim Nabors said... lol... Hey, so, I decided to go ahead and get a normal place for myself, ...well, kinda... But at least I have Internet access... So I guess I'll still keep bludgeoning the cosmos with this blog... Whatever...

Bye Bye

2009-06-15T07:17:00.002-05:00

Moving-out today. No more Internet. So I don't know when I'll post again. Don't have anyplace to stay, so I'll just do the Motel 6 World Tour. (My own invention!) Or, actually, the Motel 6 Orlando/Kissimmee Tour, lol... Hopefully I can get the boat going soon, and be able to camp/cruise on it sometimes, and save money. ...See ya!

Heat Exhaustion

2009-06-14T15:29:00.002-05:00

Wow, summer is here, and, of course, I jumped right into this past week, working on my boat a couple of days, and helping Mike move, and moving myself... So it's not surprising I got some heat exhaustion symptoms.
Here's an excellent Weather Channel video on how summer heating affects your car. Interesting:

http://www.weather.com/multimedia/videoplayer.html?from=email&bcpid=823425597&bclid=877032950&bctid=26135969001

Inspirations... We Be Madmen

2009-06-13T10:21:00.004-05:00

I'm beginning to think that I'm at a stage in my life in which I'm finally trying to define myself, and I'm enjoying it. "Hey Tim, you draw too slow and detailed!" Yes, I draw slowly and with detail. "Hey Tim, you're not really the 'life of the party,' are you!" No, I'm not the life of the party. "Hey Tim, loosen up or something, stop thinking so much, and quit making such bizarre life decisions." Sorry, but I have always been analytical and strange, and have moved my soul and body according to a distant siren's call. ...There is a siren calling me, I think, far away, shrouded in mist, but I hear her voice, her faint, beautiful call.

And I find like-minded souls.

(Go to www.AtomVoyages.com for more detail. The below notes are from that site.)

Alberto Torroba:

"In 1990, Alberto Torroba sailed alone across the Pacific from Panama to the Philippines. That’s remarkable enough. However, what made his voyage truly amazing is that his boat was a 15-foot open dugout canoe made from a single tree. Two years later, on a beach in a remote island of the Philippines, he built a catamaran from plywood and bamboo, married a local girl from the island, and continued his voyage to China.

"The tall, longhaired Alberto is one of the truly free spirits in this world. He is not one to follow trends or take advice. He had spent his early years working on his family’s sprawling ranch in Argentina. In his early 20’s, he turned his back on ranching to explore the world in small boats. Over a period of several years he nearly circumnavigated South America in a variety of open-decked sail-powered fishing boats and became highly skilled in handling the vulnerable little vessels in all types of seas. He went on to cross the South Pacific in a 24-foot engineless sloop, and later to round New Guinea in a 19-foot outrigger canoe. "

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

I've mentioned Alberto before, a couple years ago, but now I realize how similar he is to me, or at least it seems to me. He has been doing things I CRAVE to do, things I've done partially, and am now actively planning. The point is, I see that my strange inclinations have precedents. We madmen are rather rare, but we run into each other every once in a while.

Name Contest!

2009-06-11T20:20:00.003-05:00

So my new boat needs a name. Someone suggest one. OK?

...All right, so I know that's not really a "contest," so I apologize for getting everyone excited. I would like to name her, though, so somebody help me. Thanks!

Today I got to work on "her." (See, I really need a name.) Actually, I've worked on her the last two days.

First thing, I had to bend the aluminum plate back into place at the bottom of the mast. It had been damaged into a 90 degree angle by someone towing her on her last voyage. Amazingly, I got everything to line-up, and it works fine, fitting into the "pulpit" which sits atop the foredeck:

Next, the rudder I was given does NOT fit this boat. Again, apparently on its last voyage, the skipper lost the rudder/tiller assembly overboard. I bought a 5/16th-inch threaded rod at Home Depot, and used it to connect the dissimilar parts. Looks like it might work fine:

Finally, I had to figure-out how the roller furling jib works. I've never touched one before. Jay, the co-owner of Lake Fairview Marina, helped me out greatly. And it works great!:

At the end of the day, she looked like she was coming together:

Next, I'll get the mainsail on, and get the mainsheet assembly, er, assembled. Couple of missing parts there.
...And then I'll stick her in the water and see if she floats. I already know I need to replace the centerboard gasket at the bottom of the boat, but I don't think that's necessary just yet. And the self-bailer needs to be replaced, but I think "it'll do" for now.

Brought her home...

2009-06-05T21:31:00.004-05:00

Well, actually, I brought my Chrysler 15 Mutineer to Lake Fairview Marina, all the way from Titusville, with a quick stop at my condo:

Lovely lines:

Lots of interior space, relatively speaking, and in not too bad condition:

I've rarely used these kinds of small trailers, and they always seem fragile to my mind after so many years of driving big rigs. But this trailer is only a few years old and looks and rides like new. No problems. I dropped her at Lake Fairview Marina in Orlando, and will make necessary repairs/upgrades there, which shouldn't take too long. I'd gotten to know the folks over there a couple of years ago, and it was good to see 'em again. Good day overall. Always a nice feeling.

Incredible Video

2009-06-04T14:35:00.005-05:00

This video hits home with me, including the lyrics. The scene is of wild dolphins and whales playing, and the lyrics are of sailing and being alone.

...Somehow...somehow...it makes me think of how I probably was never destined to have a normal job or a normal life, or to be "good" at anything normal. Try as I may, I'm not that normal person, and I fail at almost everything. I'm strange, difficult, goofy, selfish, artistic, heartful... And all I want is a certain freedom and "elbow room." You know, room to operate my soul in this world. I'm always feeling cramped, in a sense. My brain feels squished, or imprisoned, without this elbow room, the SPACE to move about and search and lazily THINK. I don't know... Self-absorption is part of it, but it's more like my mind is absorbed with the reality of myself, this entity, looking out at the universe through the windows of my eyes. I am part of this universe, and I, as this entity, am the closest and most intimate element in my universe, so why not being self-obsessed? I've done so many things... I studied to be a preacher, but I lost my faith in the process. I hitch-hiked across the country, but found a boring job and a boring life in Sacramento. I skipped-about California and Colorado, working at ski resorts and being a ski bum, and working as a waiter in San Francisco and Los Angeles, but I found my way back home to Texas, only to have my mother die and thus be thrown into a wild ride of self-pity and drunkenness for years. I learned to upholster furniture, half-heartedly, from my dad, but chose to learn to drive trucks afterward, and crisscrossed the country for years. I taught myself to draw and to paint, and got a job doing that, doing caricatures at Walt Disney World in Florida, but that's a failure too, in the sense that I am NOT an entertainer/caricaturist type and I am NOT a salesman; sure, I pretend to be, and make the effort, but certainly it's not my strength. My strength seems to be ill-defined. Something unorthodox, some sort of craving or desire to move forward, to search, to see utterly new things, a kind of terrific curiosity. That's my strength, but I don't know what it means.

New sailboat

2009-06-03T16:25:00.008-05:00

Mark my words: I will sail this boat around the world! Well, MAYBE... I've talked about dinghy cruising before, but now I have more sailing experience and also an excellent sailboat for the purpose.

It's a 1979 15-foot Chrysler Mutineer daysailer, an open dinghy. (Chrysler once built boats.) I don't have any photos of MY exact boat, since I don't pick it up until Friday, but I collected a few from the Net. Mine looks exactly like these. And, yes, in a way, part of me wants to make a grand attempt at a life-defining event, sailing around the world in an open sailing dinghy. Now, whether I'm crazy enough to do it, we'll see later, but it's not completely insane. Properly modified, I am convinced that such a vessel is capable of a circumnavigation. Google the sailor Frank Dye and see his ocean-crossing adventures.

Here's a shot of a Chrysler Mutineer like mine:

One of the great things about a boat this size is the ability to make repairs. Instead of spending a thousand bucks to have a boat yard haul-out your big cruising boat, you can "simply" slide it up a beach and turn it over. (OK, it weighs over 400 pounds, but it's still possible.):

The most famous sailboat for dinghy sailing is the Wayfarer. As you can see, it's very similar to my Mutineer:

Another great thing about cruising in a small boat is the maneuverability. Instead of being stuck in big anchorage or an expensive marina slip, you can "slip" away into the shallow back-country or to a less-accessible anchorage, raise the boom tent, and relax in quiet solitude:

Finally, a cruising dinghy CAN go anyplace a large cruising boat can go. Frank Dye crossed the North Atlantic Ocean from Scotland to Iceland, in a Wanderer in the 1960's:

Frank's dinghy capsized a couple of times in near-hurricane conditions, but he righted her and continued. Here he is goofing-off mid-ocean:

The critical "trick" to understanding dinghy cruising is this: It is not dangerous per se, it is uncomfortable.

Of course, it actually IS dangerous, as is any activity on the ocean. But I certainly would choose a storm at sea over a driving holiday down America's highways which kill 50,000 people annually.

I suppose, in the end, I'm just lazy. Rather than have the worry and expense of a big boat which needs a motor, I choose a boat I can ROW when needed. Instead of anchoring a big boat with a big heavy anchor, I lazily toss my little anchor overboard, or I lazily sail RIGHT UP to the shallow shore, rather than going to the trouble of having to secure the big boat at a proper water depth and then get out the inflatable. Instead of working for years at difficult jobs to make enough money to go cruising in the big boat, I can go cruising, more or less, TOMORROW in my dinghy, so to speak. Instead of having a heart-attack trying to stay off a lee shore, I simply sail down to it and beach the boat and wait for better conditions. And if my boat gets damaged at sea, instead of it sinking and sending me to the lifeboat and desperate rescue attempts, I simply repair it (it's unsinkable, anyway), which may be difficult, but is completely possible, and then I sail onward.

Yes, onward.

Me and Mike's Condo

2009-06-03T16:16:00.003-05:00

Me and Locoduck are moving-out next week, so I took some pics. He's getting a house with his girlfriend, and I'm hitting the Motel 6 circuit, I guess, unless I'm camping on the new sailboat I just bought. (More later on that.)

Here's my creepy white van in front of our building:

And if you merely turn-around, you see Taco Bell across the street (Kirkman):

And then, if you turn your head, you'll see HOOTERS through the trees. We were truly blessed! ( lol ):

For Esly...

2009-06-03T16:13:00.002-05:00

Looks like your beloved Denny's is now a BAR!
(Click to enlarge):

I found a photo of me!

2009-05-30T15:15:00.004-05:00

AH, I stole a photo of me from my friend Bridget's MySpace. ***evil laugh**** This was taken last year right after I returned from my little sailing adventure, and dying to get back "out there":

The Ten Happiest Days of My Life (Completed)

2009-05-30T13:56:00.005-05:00

[NOTE: THIS LOOOONG POST STILL NEEDS EDITING, BUT I ENCOURAGE YOU TO READ IT ANYWAY, SINCE THE OCCASIONAL TYPO IS NOT THAT PERPLEXING, REALLY.]

I want to finally tell the story of my sailing adventures of last year, which really was just one adventure of 10 days in October. I was gone from Orlando for 8 months, but it all boiled-down to those 10 days. ...But first I'd like to share some photos of that trip, and then lend some perspective to the whole thing.

Photos from Late October 2008, on the day "I almost died," so to speak:

First Photo: Just after dawn, I was on my way from Saint Petersburg to Venice, FL. Weather cloudy, a bit breezy, but excellent and warm otherwise. Forecast: 15 knot winds from the east, gusting higher, maybe a rain shower, good for a fast run southward of 40 miles:
(CLICK PHOTOS TO ENLARGE)

Second Photo: Entering the large mouth of Tampa Bay, looking to port, back at the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. Wind is rising as I clear the wind-break of Interstate 275:

Last Photo: Right in the middle of the mouth and the big ship channel. VERY ROUGH. (Photos never tell the real story.) Seas and wind building. I was assuming that the steep waves were caused by the incoming tide, and were to end once I cleared the mouth. I was wrong. A minute later, the dinghy handle broke, and AWAY went the dinghy. There was no retrieving it. It was "gone with the wind." It was about that time that I said, "What the hell is going on here?!" ...Wind on the stern quarter, later rising to 25 knots steady, with gusts to 40 knots. (And later in the day they completely closed the bridge, I learned.) :

Now that I'm back in Orlando, and a few months removed from my adventures, I have a better perspective on things, I think. I was happier than ever last October when I "cast-off the dock lines" and headed to sea, I do indeed believe. I said that at the time, too, and have always felt that way since. Unfortunately, I was out of money, and having multiple equipment failures, and torn by my desire to improve my artistic skills (rather than sail around and travel and whatnot, so to speak).

But let's get back to "now." I'm here in Orlando, and I WAS happy, oh-so-happy to come back and see my friends and make some money. I had been broke and stuck on my broke sailboat all winter, with no heat and no hope, no hope except for the promise of Spring. But, with help, lots of help, I made it back. And what did I find? I'm sad to say, as I reunited with my friends, I found petty "drama" everywhere I turned. One friend doesn't like another of my friends, and "doesn't want him around" while the first friend says "F**K (that guy) and (another guy) if they want to be that way, that ain't right." And then yet another friend says "don't bring that guy around" and then refers to another of my friends and rags on him. OMG! And then YET another friend sadly announces how he no longer sees these other friends anymore, and regrets it but is also perturbed and disillusioned. And then... on and on... Man, this is all heartbreaking. The other day, another friend asked how long I'd been gone, exactly. I said 8 months. "Wow, a lot has changed. It's not the way it was."

Now, I'm sure I've got myself caught-up in pettiness in the past, too, but I REALLY try to break free of it and see beyond the mere appearance and personality of my associates/friends. There is no one, and I mean NO ONE in my circle of friends and artists who I don't genuinely admire and like. Does that mean I don't ever get pissed-off? No. I DO get pissed from time to time, but always I find that it's not worth it. I find that friendship with the person is more important, and I give each of my friends plenty of room to be human, to make mistakes, to be rash and dumb and all that. I do this because I AM the "most human" person I know; I am WAY rash and dumb, and regret things I say, often.

[NOTE: I'm coming back into this section of the post to make a clarification. You see, in the above statements, I'm thinking of about ten or twelve people, all these faces in my head, and I'm thinking about various statements I've heard. You may recognize yourself in those statements, but, be sure, I'm thinking in general terms and not of specific people, except that one quote. I've heard a lot of the same stuff from different people, so don't take it personal. Then again, DO take it personal. I love you guys, and I am speaking directly to you... You guys piss me off with all the cliques and gossiping and competition. Again, I'm the worst. But I try to overcome it. I don't see anyone else trying to do the same, it seems. We need to humble ourselves, and see the magical situation we're in right now, professional artists in the 21st Century in Orlando. A brief moment in history, Disney World, friendship, good conversation and good art. Let's make the best of it before it's gone. And it WILL be gone one day.]
...

And so in recent days I warmly think of "The Ten Happiest Days of My Life," and feel a great motivation to finally share that experience, for what it's worth.

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

PART ONE: A TENTATIVE BEGINNING

It was mid-October of last year, 2008, and I had $300 and I decided on a plan. I would go down to Fort Myers Beach and draw portraits and caricatures for people at a big-time tourist square called "Time Square," next to the beach. And if that wasn't profitable enough, I'd head to Key West or someplace in The Keys and do the same. Along the way I might pick-up a mural job or whatever, and the occasional commission for a fellow sea-gypsy. I had procrastinated enough, and had to go. Winter was coming, things were breaking, and I had no prospects in Apollo Beach, except for a couple of good friends. My mind was in the Keys.

So I stocked my boat well, and got help with a little back-up motor (the bigger one had died, apparently) and putt-putt-putt, away I went one Friday afternoon. The little 2 horse-power outboard barely pushed my heavy full-keeled 24' sailboat, but it got me the one mile down the canal to the little bay beside the big bay, aka Tampa Bay. I anchored by-myself for the first time, just before sunset. "Woot woot!" I shouted. The anchor dug-in nicely, it seemed. I had been warned that the holding at that spot was really poor, but it seemed fine for me at the time. I only had a 12-lb. danforth, and a hundred feet of anchor line/rode (including 9 feet of chain), but it seemed OK.

I REALLY needed a bigger anchor and longer line, but I couldn't afford it. I also needed a VHF radio, because my old one had died. And I needed a bigger motor (and one which would START reliably). And I needed a storm jib for heavy weather sailing, and a way to reef my mainsail, but I didn't have those things, either. And on and on...

I figured I would take it easy, staying at anchor here and there in bad weather, and only sailing in settled weather. It was hurricane season, still, but nothing on the radar at the time. I felt good. I was free. It really felt like I was free.

Saturday:
I awoke all-excited. I had slept soundly. The boat rocked easily all night at anchor. A couple of dolphins had cruised-by after dark as I sat in the cockpit in near tears at the beauty of a night alone on the water. ...I cleaned the boat all day. I took care of a million little things on the boat. But the motor wouldn't start. Oh, well, I thought. I'll just have to be a motor-less sailor. That's the old-fashioned way, after all, the way "real" sailors do it. Right? I'm safely at anchor. What could go wrong? Tomorrow I'll do some sailing, some testing of the rigging, and maybe even anchor-out by Beercan Island out on the Bay, and be done with Apollo Beach. Ah...

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

PART TWO: Finally Sailing:

So there I was, that Saturday in late October, 2008 (last year) my old Islander 24 sailboat swaying, bobbing in the breeze, safely at anchor....

My plans had been morphing all summer. Unsure of everything, trying to do pastel portraits, and having a LOT less money than I had anticipated, and simple, powerful uncertainty filling my days with dread and cluttering my nights with dream... I finally had to GO, even though me and my boat were not ready. I borrowed some money, got the bare essentials, and, with LOTS of help from my buddy Radar, I cast-off the dock lines.

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

-- Mark Twain

...My anchor seemed to have dug-in well. I had anchored before, with others, and once with my old dinghy, but never alone on a cruising sailboat. I had lots of "reading knowledge" on sailing, but little experience alone. So it was all new. Everything was new. I was giddy and frightened and blessed, it seemed. That's how it felt. I wasn't ready, but I would learn-as-I-go. No other choice at that point.

I had taught myself to navigate, and had, in fact greatly enjoyed looking at the charts and figuring-out where I might go. It's a satisfying intellectual challenge to comprehend your more-or-less exact location at all times on a mostly unmarked large body of water.

But first things first. That Saturday, there were lots of fishermen and powerboats/pleasure boats out and about. They seemed to enjoy flying-by my anchored sailboat and throwing up a big wake. My 3000-pound Islander 24 would sometimes be violently thrown from one side to the next with no warning. (This, I learned, was on the weekends in good weather; other days, this little Apollo Beach bay was peaceful.)

I knew a "cold front" was going to be heading-in that evening, so I wanted to stay-put until it passed. The winds shifted more and more toward the west (from the south" during the day, and kept picking-up. The anchor held fine, even though I was often worried by the powerboat folks who zipped directly over my anchor line at times. If one caught it in its propeller, we'd both have a big problem.

I had one hundred and ten dollars (down from $300, for provisioning), and a bunch of food, several gallons of water in jerry cans, a case of Tecate beer, and a bottle of rum. I had my charts and knew how to read 'em. I had a sailboat and all my possessions on Earth inside. I wished I knew how to fish. The day ended, and a breezy evening descended beautifully. I waited for the cold front.

More dolphins, zipping around here and there in the dark evening. Wonderful.

With night, the view changes. The Cosmos transforms itself miraculously, and reveals itself newly. Stars and planets blinked down at me. I saw clouds toward the northwest. The cold front was approaching.

The "basin" where I was anchored is a body of water about 1/2 mile long and 1/4 mile wide, or, really, double those numbers. There's lots of room. It's an offshoot of Tampa Bay, and, in fact, I had a clear view of Tampa Bay from my position. The whole area is a mess of nice homes and yachts. I mean, EVERY square inch of land was covered with Man, and a rich man at that. And next to all the homes? Nice boats. Big boats. Boats that say, "If you so much as scratch me, you're dead, you piece of sh*t!" ... The wind increased from the west.

My new weather radio implied that I'd get hit by the front around midnight. Putting everything below that wasn't needed above deck, I kept a wary eye on those approaching clouds in the northwest's night sky. Here they come.

When it hit, it was a shock. But it was refreshing. I laughed, I threw up my arms, and the wind rushed through me and through the boat's wire rigging, singing that old sailor's song, wwhhhhirrrrrllllllllllllllll......!!!! The anchor held fine. I noted my position in relation to two points on land. I wasn't dragging anchor.

I was tired. Everything's fine, I thought. Tomorrow is to be clear and still mild, temperature-wise. If the wind is not too strong in the afternoon, I'll go out onto Tampa Bay and do a "shake-down" cruise on my Islander, finally, after having it for a year. About time! Too many things had been distracting me, causing carelessness, fear, whatever... I'm finally here! A cruising sailor. ...Or so I thought.

After an hour, I went to bed. It was about 1 AM.

I slept right-off.

Twenty minutes later I awoke, dead afraid. The motion of the boat had changed.

I rushed out on deck in my shorts. The wind had increased, but wait, the boat is at the wrong angle. "Man, the wind has really increased!" It was howling. I looked around. I could hardly see because this front had turned into a near gale.

Spray was stinging my now-cold skin. What's wrong? Something's wrong. Wait! Those lights behind me. They are WAY too close! I'm dragging anchor! OH MY GOD!

I grabbed a jacket, zipped it up, and dived toward the little outboard in the rear motor well. The big outboard lay on its side, dead, but I knew that. The little outboard was in the well, ready to go. I pulled the cord 3 times gently, then gave it a hard pull. Absolutely nothing. I double-checked the fuel cut-off. It was ON the right position, so I had gas. I choked, I primed, I cursed. Nothing, nothing, nothing. I pulled and pulled and pulled. Absolutely nothing. This all took about 60 seconds. The whole time, the gale is screaming through my rigging, and saltwater spray is drenching me. It's not raining, but I'm getting drenched. The weather radio had said 25 knot gusts were expected. I suspected this was much more than that. But I didn't really know, or care. All I cared about was the fact that I was being blown QUICKLY toward an unknown shore and a couple of million dollar yachts parked next to million dollar houses. Crash! Boom! I could see it now. "No insurance, buddy? You're going to jail. And, oh yeah, we're taking your boat!"

This can't be. What to do? Only one thing: I must SAIL this damn boat. One problem: I've never sailed this boat. Now, I sailed the heck out of my old dinghy, and an old canoe, but never a cruising boat, or, actually not ALONE. Plenty of miles with others, but this is different. Go go go go!!!

I had the jib already ready to be hoisted, for just such an emergency. I rushed forward and untied it, and then I rushed back to the cockpit in the shaking/bouncing boat. ...But this is too much, too much too soon.

Grabbing the halyard in the soaring wind and spray, I untied it and pulled. "Oh no! Another tie-down is keeping the sail from raising!" I SPRINT forward again, barefoot, everything wet, untie it, and collapse back toward the cockpit. Pull pull pull! That shore is getting closer! I'm about to hit that dock! Oh my god!

UP goes the big jib, and BOOM!!! it catches the wind and the boat heels WAY over, and then, incredibly, I'm moving FORWARD, away from the shore and the dock and the ominous yachts and darkened houses.

But the jib isn't all the way up! It's jammed!

I lash the wheel, and go forward again, and do a little untangling, but now, *WHAT'S WRONG?!* I've stopped, and we're TURNING..!! What the--?? "Oh crap. I still have that anchor up there, and it's PULLING ME BACK!"

Crap! I run back to the cockpit and untie the wheel. BOOM!! The jib catches the wind from the other side, and OVER the boat rolls, and now we're sailing TOWARD the shore. And FAST!!! I start to whip the wheel back the other way, but I hesitate. Wait, I think. Wait until I get close to that dock again, and THEN turn back. And it worked! I waited as long as I dared, and then TURN! And I made an effective tack right back the other direction.

This is crazy! I'm sailing, but I'm attached to this anchor, which is about one hundred feet ahead of me, and won't let me go! Of course, I don't know what will happen if I were actually ABLE to retrieve that anchor and start sailing FREE. The anchor is partially holding again, and COMBINED with the thrust provided by my jib, I'm staying away from the shore! This is crazy! The thing about a jib (and I did NOT have any experience with a front sail, like this jib) is that, theoretically, I knew, the "center of effort" of a jib is FORWARD of the "center of lateral resistance," so that means it won't go toward the wind as well. Right? I don't know, I thought... So, anyway, I figured, I needed to get the mainsail up. But, hell, NOT IN THIS GALE! I have no reef points in it (another delayed modification). I can't this whole big sail up! No way.

But wait, here I go again, I must tack back the other way. And I do. I'm headed toward shore again.

But, HEY, this is cool. I'll just keep doing this for the time being, tacking back and forth, being helped by that anchor out in front of me. I'll wait until the wind dies down a bit in a couple of hours, and then take down the jib and see if the anchor will hold again. But what if it doesn't? I'm WAY too close to that dock, and if I sail off that other way, into the DARKNESS, beyond which lays all of nasty black Tampa Bay, I might REALLY be in trouble. There's a shoal over that way too, somewhere. ...No, just keep doing this, and try to THINK. ...

And somewhere in all that panic I managed to change my portable anchor light to a portable red/green light, using lots of duct tape. And I managed to get a cap, and gloves, and a 2-liter soda. And, you know, it's funny. When the whole episode started, when I was first awakened by the motion of the boat changing, I felt VERY sleepy. And I couldn't shake that feeling of needing to SLEEP. It felt horrible, having to rush around in a panic and get my vessel out of harm's way, but at the same time having this physiological craving to drop asleep right there. That lasted for about an hour, and then I was finally awake. It's almost like I was in a nightmare, a bad dream. I kept thinking, I know I'm not dreaming all this, but man it sure seems like a dream. But it wasn't.

So I kept tacking back and forth. The wind decreased SOME, but not enough.
I didn't know what to do. If I pulled the anchor in, I'd be free, but the jib was still jammed a bit, and didn't have the right shape, and I doubted it would really sail properly without the mainsail.

So I thought, "Hey, I'm safe. And I can keep doing this ALL NIGHT if I need too. I've saved the boat."

So I kept doing this, tacking back and forth, ALL FREAKING NIGHT.

At first light, I was numb. And COLD. The wind had decreased, and I suddenly felt safe with the rising of the sun. Wow, it felt so warm and reassuring.

I untied the halyard, and down came the jib. I waited. The boat straightened. The anchor held.

I lashed the jib, then went below to my soft dry bed. I slept well.

SUNDAY.

"Sunday" is the right word. Sun+Day. A beautiful day. The air warmed noticeably by Noon. The wind was still a bit high, but much less than the near-gale the night before. The radio said a couple of boats were missing overnight in Tampa Bay waters. Lucky thing I was anchored safely, I giggled.

I called my friends and left a couple of messages. My phone's battery was suddenly low, I noticed. Dang. One of my friends, Captain Richard White (from whom I had originally bought my Islander) was leaving that day or the next with a paying customer for a week-long cruise, so I hoped he could stop by and give me some advice.

Really, what I wanted, was to be towed away from the shore. Where I was, I was only about TWENTY FEET away from shore when the boat swayed at anchor in that direction. With no experience with this boat, I wanted to get away from shore a bit before hoisting my main and taking-off.

...

Now this is where my memory fails me. The next several days are spread out before me in my mind, but I'm not sure which day of the week each is. So I'll dispense with naming the days from now on. At sea, it doesn't make much difference, I learned. You need to know WHERE you're at, and you need to know the relative time between yourself and other points at sea and other weather patterns, but the names of the days which are used by people on land are, well, somewhat unnecessary.

Either that day or the next, Captain Richard and his wife (and their paying crew) came by in their big sailboat. He seemed to be enjoying my predicament, but he said OK, he'd happily tow me to more open water. But first I had to pull-up the anchor. Easier said than done, I learned. The thing was STUCK. I mean, that anchor was deep deep deep in the seabed. I tried and tried and tried, but it wasn't coming out. So Captain Richard said, "Well, son, looks like you're good and safe, and we gotta go. See you 'out there.'" ...And they were gone.

And he was right, I was safe.

I evaluated things... I had plenty of food and water (and rum). My anchor was NOT going to come out no matter how strong the wind. I'm safe.

But I want to SAIL. I want to GO. I need to get down to Fort Myers Beach and set-up my art stand and make some money. ...I rested that day, and saw three dolphins playing around my boat for TWO HOURS. Two of the three were often colliding. Was that romance? They would be swimming by my boat, and one would "jump" on the other one, in a way. It was lively action. A smaller dolphin followed the first two constantly.

Some girls in bikinis were in a boat near me for much of the afternoon. They were trying to water-ski. There was a lot of plopping about and falling, and shrieking. Then they stopped their futile effort, and just watched my dolphins play for another hour or so. ...I got myself together. I raised the mainsail in the lighter breeze, just to make sure it was OK. Part of the story I left-out was this: the storm I went through nearly destroyed my jib sail in the night. The whole length of the leach (the rear side) was torn apart by apparently whipping across the rigging all night. That's how strong the wind was, and that's how poorly-shaped the jib was. (It wasn't raised high enough, basically; my fault.) So I got my Gorilla Tape (really strong black duct tape) and spent a couple of hours doing an untidy repair job. (Later it proved to be quite good, however.)

The next day (Monday? Tuesday?) I slept late, then I got up, ate some noodles, raised the mainsail and started pulling in the anchor. Or, actually, I was pulling MY ENTIRE SAILBOAT toward the anchor, again. Once I got directly over the anchor (in about ten feet of water) I tied-off the anchor line, tight. And I waited. Occasionally I'd go back and pull on the line, and tie it again, each time a little closer. The waves rocked my bow up and down, and, slowly but surely, the anchor loosened. My theory was right! Soon it broke free, and I pulled it up QUICKLY (along with about fifty pounds of seabed!) and placed it in its holder and ran back to the cockpit. I untied the wheel, pushed the boom over, which allowed the mainsail to catch a bit of the wind, and this started turning the boat (in the right direction, away from shore) and then, BOOM, I've got the wind! Wow! I was moving nicely toward more open water in that little bay. But here was the big test, the first turn. And it worked. I tacked upwind with an ungainly but workable timing. I was easily gaining ground upwind.

I tacked several times across that little bay, in nice breezes, and made my way from one end to another. This was, actually, little different from sailing my old one-sail dinghy.

I threw out the anchor again, let it pay out, and tied if off, letting down the mainsail in the process.

Ah-HA! It all works! Sweet!

Nice test, but what to do now? I thought for approximately five seconds, and decided, "I'm outta here!"

I pulled in the anchor (easily) and sailed out of the bay, spirited, beating out the little channel, and all of Tampa Bay opened before me. Alas!

Freedom, indeed. Beautiful. I could see downtown Saint Petersburg 10 miles across the bay to the west, and there was downtown Tampa to my north, about the same distance I think. To the southwest, hazy, I could make-out the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, about 15 miles away to port. But my destination? I thought I'd head up to a little Island just to my north, Beer Can Island (unofficially, I think), so I started that way.

Hmm, I thought...I sure would like to get out of here, and get across the bay... Hmm...

So I got my charts and my binoculars and my compass, and I tacked. I was headed due west.

According to my chart, at this heading, I'll pass by Ship channel marker 6F (I think that was it) in about 5 miles, which will likely take one hour and twenty minutes or so. And, in about one hour and fifteen minutes I notice a big buoy DIRECTLY on my nose. "No way," I think. But, sure enough, it was 6F. Wow, I'm good.

My plan was to get across the bay to the channel which runs north and south parallel to the Saint Petersburg coastline, follow it south to another marked channel which leads due west and crosses under I-275 just north of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. Then, immediately to the north, there's a nice area to anchor next to Indian Key. At that point, I'm adjacent to Fort Desoto and all of the Gulf of Mexico. This should take about 5 hours. (And after the ship channel, I would head southwest, and catch that Saint Petersburg channel further south, cutting away unnecessary distance.

But right now I had to cross the notorious Tampa Bay ship channel. It's only a couple of hundred yards across, but, dang, those ships are FAST. I look both ways, and GO. Nothing in sight. Earlier in the year, with a friend in another boat, I had a VERY close encounter. We weren't looking at a chart, and made a mistake. So now I was paranoid.

Of course, even when you do everything right, things can go wrong. Or ONE thing can go wrong. That thing: the wind died to almost nothing.

Wow... "I'm in the middle of the ship channel and I ain't movin'. Nice." I looked at the two little outboards sitting the motor well. Don't even think about it, they seemed to say. Oh, well...

It turned-out that I had just enough of a breath of breeze to ease forward, and no ships came by. My vessel slowly walked westward.

I tried to head more south than west, as was my plan, but the flighty wind would only push me west.

Me and Wind Song ended-up directly in front of downtown Saint Petersburg, and I was able to head due south with a little shift of the breeze direction. But now the day was passing me by. What was to be a five-hour journey was now turning into something much longer. I began searching the charts for a good place to anchor. But with the calm winds and no motor, my choices were limited. Actually, I'd been thinking about this possibility all day. A "bail-out" plan in case something went wrong. The problem with bail-outs: they suck. You may be in a worse position than you would be if you just keep going. So I kept going. And so did the sun, downward.

I turned-on my portable lights, a red/green one for the bow, and a white one for the stern. I was cruising southward in a renewed breeze from the northeast as the sun set behind Tropicana Field. In the cockpit with me, I had my charts, food, drink, two flashlights, some warmer clothes and gloves, and I was ready for my first night sail EVER alone. Jees, was it just this morning I was sleeping late still stuck next to shore in that little bay? Wow.

And you know what happened? Nothing. I mean, nothing except a happy happy happy sail through the night. Well that's not totally accurate...

...The channel buoys were well-lit, about one mile apart. I kept looking at my chart and compass and kept taking bearings on the lights. No problem. Sweet. Beautiful.

There was no other boat traffic until...until...Until I was trying to find the right navigation/buoy light to turn west into the Intracoastal Waterway channel which led four more miles to that little bridge under I-275. Suddenly a BRIGHT light from behind me, silent but all-encompassing, lit-up my little world like daytime! Was it God?

God: "You're being much too successful, Tim. You've overcome your fears and faced-down some of my nastiest challenges, and now you're having FUN, dammit, I mean dang-it, so now I've come to set you straight!" But no it wasn't God, it was the DEVIL, in the form of a SHIP one hundred yards directly at 6 o'clock, coming fast down the channel toward my stern. I didn't even hear the thing, or see it before this. I had seen "a" vessel's light, far back, a couple of minutes earlier, but had no idea it would reach me so quickly. At the moment, I was trying to see a marker in the night. I couldn't see the number on one side, so I decided to sail around it. I had to make a right turn, and was just about to do so, but had to assure myself this was the right nav buoy. It was indeed the correct buoy, but this was a hairy situation for a few seconds as I was turning and holding the flashlight and the chart and the mainsheet and being blinded by the ship's spotlight all at once. My sailboat had the right of way, but I gotta stay out of the way of ships. But, wait a sec, what's a ship doing over here?

So I simply slipped behind that buoy (I had already checked to make sure the depth was adequate) and out of the channel, and away from the spotlight. I knew the ship couldn't follow. I set my sights due west and lined-up the channel markers again. This was the Intracoastal Waterway (the "ICW") and I could see the red marker of the I-275 bridge dead ahead as I leaned over into the new channel. I looked behind me as we glided into the new channel, and watched the "ship" continue to move directly south behind me, away from me. It was a casino/party ship or something, all lit up, with lots of revelers walking about, and LOUD music playing. I waved and gave 'em the finger. Good thing it was dark. I was having a blast. For some reason, this had been a special moment. With distant lights glittering off the black waves, and my meager knowledge and little experience being tested, and all going well, I was ecstatic. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful...

So, just follow this last channel straight straight straight (in an ever-increasing and fresh breeze) and in an hour or so I'll be at anchor.

The wind was from behind me, my starboard quarter. All was fine until...until...Until the straight lights ahead of me started moving weirdly. Now, there are lots of lights out and about here and there, but it's pretty clear what's what if you know how to read a chart fundamentally. But this was weird. Was I looking at the wrong lights? What the heck? I reviewed my chart. No, this is right. But what is going on? What could it be? I turned a bit south, on a hunch. Sure enough, SWOOOOSH, my keel slid across some soil. Ah-HA! The incoming tide must be strong here (I was just off Point Pinellas), I thought, with a shoal (shallow water) just to my right, and I was being pushed onto it. I swung Wind Song more to the south, and soon I was back in the channel, but I had keep steering a bit south to maintain my westward direction. Easy. Ha! (Yeah, right...)

At this point, me and Wind Song are approaching midnight and are exhausted. We make the decision to pull-up just short of the bridge and anchor in a little area just to the north of ICW Channel, just before the bridge. It's about 10 feet of water, and there's lots of room, and that growing northeast wind shouldn't be too much of a problem. (One of the other things I had done the day before was to LENGTHEN my anchor line, by adding two sections of line I had lying about, using "anchor bend" knots, making my anchor rode about 175 feet, nearly doubling it, and increasing effective holding ability greatly.)

So we anchor. Easy now. Funny. I simply sail upwind, real close to the wind, so to speak, tie-off the wheel and then drop the mainsail, and run forward and drop the anchor. Suddenly all is quiet and peaceful as I let-out the now long anchor line, and my boat slowly drifts backward in the breeze. Hmm...this breeze is getting even stronger, I notice, but I try to ignore this. In a few moments, the anchor is tied-off and the mainsail is tied-off. (I hadn't used the jib this day, owing to my lack of confidence in its use. It could have really helped, however, in those earlier light winds.) So I sit down and open a beer. Midnight. Holy cow, has this been all the same day?

You know, today I became a sailor, I mused. ...I sipped my Tecate, but something else was on my mind: waves.

Yes, while I've positioned myself so that the land helps break the wind, the waves from Tampa Bay are building and are bending around Point Pinnelas, obviously, and coming right down to me. Great. Bob, bob, bobbing along I go, up and down, up and down, yanking at the anchor over and over. I don't hesitate. I immediately untie the mainsail and start pulling on the halyard. Adrenaline takes over. I JUMP up onto the foredeck and pull strongly against the breeze and waves. It's tough going, up, down, splash...which confirms that I'm doing the correct thing. The anchor had been holding fine, but now it comes right out when I get directly over it, just like it's supposed to. I jump back to the cockpit as the wind catches the mainsail and we begin sailing before I even reach the wheel. I untie it and away we go into the night.

But we're not going far, if I can help it. We slip back over into the ICW channel, and then drive straight and FAST directly for the bridge. On the other side resides calm water.

The northeast wind pushes Wind Song scary-fast directly toward all that concrete and cars, Oh My!, look at all the cars and trucks and buses here in the early hours of the morning, and all that concrete under 'em! And I can hear all that traffic now, I'm that close, and suddenly I'm there, and under, and it's dark, and I yell "AHOY!" and it echos, and I'm grinning like a kid, ear-to-ear! I laugh and laugh and sail STRAIGHT THROUGH the opening, wind at our back, perfect. And out the other side I go, SWOOOOSH, and all is quiet and pleasant. I maneuver easily down the channel, then I get a little confused by this next crossing channel, and I know I must be careful, because there is a LOT of shallow water around here, but then I find the right marker, and I head a bit more west, and a bit more, then WHIP, SWoooSh, I turn back out toward the breeze and northward into an excellent little area just off Indian Key. It's a bit breezy again, out in the open, but there are no waves. Waves will really mess with your anchor holding, and with your ability to sleep.

I tack up and up into the wind a ways, drop the mainsail, drop the anchor, finish that beer, and crash onto my inviting bed, thinking, "Is this all the same day? Oh my god...." ...and sleep.

PART THREE: Into the Storm

"How I almost died," might be a good label for this part. Hmm... But I don't know. With an excellent sailboat, a certain amount of human folly is forgiven.

I had awakened that next morning, after that LOOOONG day and then NIGHT of sailing, completely exhausted and ill-at-ease. Sleeping hard, I dreamed of nothing, or was it everything? I dreamed of excellence perhaps? Or did I dream of foolishness?

The morning was windy. Me and Wind Song were not as far up the anchorage as I had intended. I watched two nearby buoys wobble in the breeze, or, wait, no, it was ME who was wobbling.

But I kept watching those buoys, suspicious. And YEP! there they go. The buoys were getting closer together. I was dragging anchor.

A slightly strong daytime breeze was doing this, but how? I didn't know. It was a slow creep backwards. I dragged my butt forward and dragged the dragging anchor toward me. It wasn't catching on the bottom at all. But when I pulled it up I saw the culprit: grass. (Much of it was wrapped loosely around my anchor flutes. Strange, thick, tough grass, or weed, almost plastic.) The bottom here must be a resistant combination of firm soil and that slick plastic grass.

But wait a second!!! What the heck? I looked at my anchor: it was BENT ALMOST IN HALF! What the--? When did this happen? Oh my, oh my... It must have been bent back when I was at Apollo Beach and the cold front came in and I spent the night tacking back and forth in a panic, with the anchor digging deep into the seabed. And when I pulled it up with all that mud, I didn't even notice that it was so badly bent, and then, last night, I anchored twice, and but didn't notice the damage because it was dark. This is hilarious. EVERYTHING IS BREAKING! ...Aahhhhh...Oh, well... Onward!

So I sailed further up. There was plenty of room.

I anchored again, but now up close to Sunshine Channel and I-275. This broke all possible waves and a lot of the breeze. And my bent anchor held finely until I left the next day. Whew! ... (Truth be told, I tried to make it up to a little area behind Indian Key, adjacent to O'Neils Marina, where several other sailboats were anchored. I don't know if anyone was living on those boats, but it was a very protected area. Unfortunately, it was directly upwind, and I had to SAIL straight up that narrow channel against the wind. I was so tired from the previous day that, after trying to beat upwind for fifteen minutes, I gave up and anchored.) I chose to simply rest and make plans for the remaining hours of the day.

A particularly hard-charging pod of dolphins called that area home. One dolphin, in particular, seemed to swim fiercely right at my anchored sailboat and then dive underneath and then come out the other side, splashing vigorously, slapping the water in his swimming motion. He/she did this several times.

I wanted to make a run down to Venice. About a 40 mile trip, it should take about 10 hours in a decent breeze. I listened intently to the weather radio. The forecast didn't change, but, frankly, the NOAA broadcast could be confusing as it changed from inshore to offshore to farther offshore to land forecasts. It was all computerized, and lacked human care, so to speak. I mean, to a human, the word TORNADO in reference to a real event is stunning and vibrant and fear-filling, and this emotional implication is immediately communicated, whereas a computer program simply sees the letters T-O-R-N-A-D-O, and may drone non-chalantly about a warning without a care in the world. And while there were no tornadoes around that day, the point is the same. That is, the weather pattern across Florida was developing a low-pressure system which was intensifying. There was no clear evidence of this in the restricted computer-voiced statements. All I remember was the phrase "fifteen knots" and a reference to "twenty knots," but that was to be well-offshore. In fact, Tampa Bay waters were supposedly going to be safe the next day, with perhaps a small craft advisory offshore. And I already KNEW, approximately, what fifteen knots in the mouth of Tampa Bay felt like. Me and my friend Alex had been out in that sort of stuff one year earlier, going right around Egmont Key and across the dangerous ship channel. It wasn't a big deal, even in his lightweight, fin-keeled MacGregor 26. My heavy-weight, full-keeled Islander 24 was MADE for ocean sailing. Besides, I thought, once I cleared Tampa Bay and started south, I would "hug" the shoreline, as the wind was blowing out-to-sea. And, believe it or not, I was certain that the forecast was PERFECT. Some clouds to block the burning sun, and a consistent fifteen-know breeze blowing offshore across my beam (i.e., from the side). I went to bed early that night, listening to NOAA again, full of confidence.

At dawn, me and Wind Song were underway. I set my alarm clock (didn't think I'd need THAT device again!) for 30 minutes before sunrise, and I had a bag of food and drink and binoculars and charts and all that, all ready to go. I had awakened, pissed over the side, and didn't need a jacket, it was so warm. In the lightening darkness, I hoisted the mainsail, and then handily brought in the anchor, and was OFF!

The Sunshine Channel was about 4 miles long from my point to the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, where the ship channel and that deep, huge area of Tampa Bay's mouth awaited. The wind gently glided over Interstate 275 just to port a quarter of a mile away, and filled my one big sail. Traffic was rushing on the Interstate noisily like some grumbling unimaginable entity/monster. I had made my escape from that entity! ...Or so I thought.

I was going due south, and the breeze was softer than expected. The jib halyard lay there, becoming, but I decided to wait. "Let's see what it's like out on the ocean proper. Besides, the mouth might be pretty bumpy with the tide coming in against an outgoing wind."

Man, I was juiced. I was SO looking forward to my first ocean passage. Of course, I was going to take it easy. Just slide southward right next to the beach, maybe a quarter mile off, or less if I feel like it. Maybe see a couple of girls on the beach, and wave, and tune in whatever radio stations I could find. Sit back with a soda and a sandwich and steer with one bare foot on the lightly-trembling wheel. There was supposed to be some rain, but the temperature was quite mild.

...Nice...This was sailing, nice easy sailing, down this Sunshine Channel toward the mouth.

The day finally lit the world around me fully, and me and my Islander eased slowly toward our destiny.

***

The Sunshine Channel ends just as it reaches the bridge. I need not go under the bridge, since I'd crossed under the interstate highway two nights earlier. I had my waterproof chart out, neatly folded and clipped onto an old masonite drawing board. As soon as I passed a certain marker, I turned southwest. I wanted to steer clear of some submerged posts. I didn't know exactly what the chart was talking about, but then I saw the posts off to my starboard side. Little did I know at the time that I would be passing them again in 24 hours in a raging, wild ride back to safe harbor.

Things broke-down quickly as I turned southwest and the open sea. Behind me stood the Skyway Bridge, looking to be a cousin to the Golden Gate. The water was deepening here, 20 to 30 feet, but care still had to be taken. Ahead of me a couple of miles lay Egmont Key, lonely, beautiful, more in the Gulf of Mexico than in Tampa Bay. I had to zip by its southern tip, but not too close, but not too far away, because a shoal guarded much of that pass. I lined-up some markers on my chart, each a mile or two apart, and then lined-up the heading on my compass and on my bow.

I had my camera, and I was using it. But as I got farther out, and the bridge got farther away, and the wind grew, I considered putting it away. And soon, there I was, cruising faster and faster downwind, and a couple of healthy waves lifted my stern and slid us forward, like surfers, me and Wind Song.

At one point, I turned and snapped a photo of the dinghy which was tied to the stern. The Skyway bridge and waves were also caught in the pic. (See it at the beginning of this post.) But then, as I turned back around, the boat TWISTED or something, it seemed, and I almost dropped the camera as I grabbed the wheel. "Time to put you away." I closed the camera into its case. "Whooaa..." I groaned as the boat rocked uncomfortably in another direction. I immediately realized that the smile on my face had disappeared.

On thing I didn't have in the cockpit with me was my weather radio. I had checked the forecast the night before, and all was fine with it. "Perfect," was my thought. But now I was thinking I needed to check it again. But, really, it was too late. The waves were getting big enough that I had to pay CLOSE attention to the wheel. No going below to grab anything at all.

The waves built very quickly, as did the wind. I mean, this was all a matter of a few lonely minutes. And then, with EVERY wave, My 3000 pound Islander SURFED downward at incredible speed. This was unexpected. I looked around me. What is going on here? I was another sailboat in the distance, beating upwind, coming in. It was POUNDING forward violently, up and down, crash, crash, crash, up,down, pound, crash... Hmm...What is going on here? This is suddenly A LOT worse than when me and Alex were out last year. "I just need to get out to the open Gulf waters and south of the Tampa Bay entrance. Even if it's windier than expected, I'll just hug the coast. No waves at all there, since it's all blowing out to sea. Of course, at that moment, so was I.

I was careful to keep the chart near me, and the compass aligned. I aimed for the southern tip of Egmont, and I was confident that-- BOOM!-- "What the--?" I looked back. The dinghy was gone. Did it explode? What the--? Then I saw it off to starboard, skittering across the waves, and then it completely disappeared, and I turned to port to stall the sail, and WHOOOOOOSHHHH a big wave hit me directly on the side and OVER the boat goes, WAY over, HOLY CRAP!, and I jerked the wheel back to starboard and fill the sail again and SWIIISSSSHHHH I'm raging down the front of another wave. "Where's the dinghy?!!!" I never saw it again except for a slight glimpse about a minute later, with it maybe half a mile away to my right, popping up over a wave, heading west toward Egmont Key, at an angle to my southwesterly direction.

I didn't have time to worry about it. I pulled in the towing line so it would get caught in my rudder, and discovered the dinghy's handle still tied to the end. I hadn't tied the line to any other part of the dinghy, but it never occurred to me that this would be a problem. Man... It made me SICK to lose my dinghy, which I need to go to shore in, but there was simply no getting it back at that point. I had to get out of that tide and wind battle which was ripping at my hull and rudder and soul.

I stayed the course. Soon another nav buoy was passed, and soon I was at Egmont. I cruised right by, and right by a marker, right where it was supposed to be, and suddenly I was on the open ocean. Whoa...Dude...

The conditions changed some. They got worse. The waves were bigger, and the wind was stronger. Soon the wind was deafening unless I kept my head turned a certain way. That roaring sound was unnerving, and suddenly it occurred to me: this might be it. How strange. This is how death approaches. It's all so very clear and calm. We walk right up to death and say hello. "Yes, I understand. There's nothing I can do. Got it. What's next?"

Imagining the events: something breaks; water enters; my radio is broken, so I can't for help; the dinghy/lifeboat is gone; I put on the life preserver, OK, and grab the flare kit, but what's the point? The boat is sinking out from under my feet and I don't have time to get food or water, and the waves are THUGS pounding at me, knocking everything around, and suddenly I'm in the water alone and the flare kit is gone, and I'm blown out to sea. News story at 11. Then all is forgotten of Timothy Brent Gardner as there's a little ceremony but no body, and everyone goes to McDonalds afterward, chit-chatting, with a sense of relief.

But maybe not. Maybe I'll make it to Venice.

I see a crabbing boat. It's the only other vessel in sight. Can't believe he can work in these conditions. I wonder he's worried about me. Or laughing at me.

Me and Wind Song continue seaward. We must go a certain distance out to sea, a mile or two, before turning south, in order to avoid the shoals off Anna Maria pass. But once there, I can head south, and even beat southeast, and get back close to shore and FLY down to Venice pass, 30 more miles south, whhoooo-wweeeeee! And once safely inside Venice pass, I'll maneuver over to the county park's nice, free dock and park it overnight and go find a cheap rubber raft, although first I'll head to a beach-side restaurant and have a steak and a couple of Red Stripes and bring a pretty girl back to my vessel/home after telling her of my bravery and introducing her to Red Stripe Jamaican beer. ...I gots a hundred bucks, and I deserve a celebration!

But first things first. Get out to sea. Turn left. Go straight a bit. Then turn a bit more left, straighten, go like this for a few hours, and voila! I'm there. Easy. ...If it weren't for the fact that I'm now TWO MILES offshore and I see the final buoy WAY off to starboard, and I realize I'm WAY off course, yet I kinda intended this, cheating toward south, knowing my shallow-draft of three and a half feet would likely be fine, and...and... And then came the real surprise.

Surprise, surprise, surprise!

The wind is shifting.

Instead of a wind out of the northeast or east, it's coming more and more out of the SOUTHeast. OH NO, this CANNOT BE! It's on the nose! In fact, the tightest I can pinch it is 180 degrees. This isn't enough.

I think, I hang on, I grapple with the chart and the wheel, bracing my body. We're going UPWIND now, and WOW! I wish I had a video camera: UP then DOWN and CRAAASH! into another wave, just like in those Perfect Storm movies. "Nice...," I think, sarcastic, yet, I don't know... There was a sense of satisfaction in a weird way. I was relieved that I was finally DOING something interesting. Or something... I'm not sure.

It was interesting, indeed. The boat would lift over a wave and downward a bit and there'd be this "shudder" of the whole vessel as it appeared to LEAP forward to meet the next steep wave face, which then resulted in that CRASH and whitewater everywhere, crashing in all directions, sideways, away, near, straight up, and then all over me.

At some point I noticed that I was wearing my jacket. I had no idea when I had put it on, or HOW. I had one hand on the wheel and one hand gripping the cockpit coaming or a stanchion on the upwind side, with one foot bracing against the other coaming BELOW me, as the boat was heeled far, far over, with the leeward rail almost in the water. When did I put on the jacket? Maybe I had it on the whole time? ...I had worn blue jeans, thinking there might be rain and a little chill. I also had a baseball cap on. The jacket's hood was tied tightly over it, and the cap never blew off during my entire adventure. The cap is good for keeping rain off my glasses. Of course, it never rained this day. But I was soaked head-to-toe due to the constant crashing spray. I occasional cleaned my glasses, but rarely, and only with a salty finger pulled clumsily across the salty lenses. (Note: Thinking about this again, a month later now, I don't think I had my cap on that day at all. Just my long hair twisting in the gale. Funny.)

Crash. Crash. Crash. Onward (and slowly) I headed south. No other boats at all now. Wait, no, there's a boat. Help! I want to say. I look again. It's the Coast Guard! Holy Cow! Look at 'em go! Their boat was heading due south, too, but, man oh man, that boat was flying! Skipping over the waves with inhumane ease. They may have been hailing me. I'll never know.

Ten O'clock. That's it? Ten AM? Jees, I still have the whole day ahead of me, but... I don't think this is going to work. I think I might break the boat apart before I get to Venice. ...UNless I can get back close to that beach. If I can make a couple of miles south, I can then head back north east and then back south again, and then back again, and BEAT my way to the beach.

So kept heading south.

Crash. Crash. Crash. My old Islander was shuddering, crying, brave. I never intended to EVER put her through this before completely refitting her rigging and certainly not before getting her truly seaworthy, which meant a WORKING VHF RADIO, and a lifeboat, and little things like that. "But at least I have a life jacket," I thought. "But wait a second!" I realized I wasn't WEARING the life jacket. It was lying peacefully in my big bag on the cockpit floor in two or three inches of sloshing water. I could see part of the life jacket through the opening of the bag. I never put it on. I'll never know why.

But, wait a second. Water? In my cockpit? Indeed, there was a LOT of water sloshing around in the cockpit. Am I sinking? I had to look inside at the floor of the deep cabin, to see if water was in there. If so, it might soon be abandon ship time. But what would "abandon ship" consist of? Me in a life preserver in the middle of all this...this...this SHIT? No way. Or maybe...Maybe I could swim those two miles to shore. Maybe the wind would have much of an effect on a person in the water. Certainly, I would use every fiber of muscle and soul to make that swim, if needed.

Somehow I DID manage then to look into the cabin. I just made quick LEAP. DRY! And now a leap BACK to the wheel. But too late. I had lashed the wheel, but, crap, we got turned sideways and BANG, a wave is hitting from a weird direction and I close my eyes as water slams against me and I fall. Not far, but I definitely fall. But I don't feel anything. I'm instantly scrambling to the wheel. We regain control. A knee and a hip and a shoulder feel funny. That's interesting. No pain, just funny. Interesting. And my left hand's fingers won't move. No, wait, now they're moving. I can't feel anything except...except...except for this devilish rhythm of up up up and down/leap/down crash!!! ...over and over...

It wasn't noon yet, but I knew it was futile. I'd hardly made any headway, and now I couldn't even keep the bow on a south heading. The helm was being pushed more and more southWEST. ...But I was getting used to it, this rhythm, this pounding, this saltwater sea of motion. I don't remember ever feeling fear. Just a dull ache in my heart, and the certainty of a job to be DONE, but no fear. Very strange. I think, nowadays, thinking back, that I was indeed afraid, but the overwhelming DEMAND of the utility of the day, of the NEEDED ACTIONS, and, to be honest, the NOVELTY of the experience, overcame all feeling of fear and replaced it with an kind of intellectual experience, a wonderful intellectual experience, combined with a wild athletic drama. It didn't feel romantic, and I didn't take anymore pictures.

But futility it was. Even if I COULD make it in close to that shore, by the time I made it down to Venice, the night would have fallen, and perhaps the wind would be greater, and even more southerly. It's not gonna happen today.

So looked back the way I came. DUE NORTH of me was the lighthouse of Egmont Key, flashing Welcome, a few miles away. So turned around and headed due north. This would take me right over the shoals I just spent so much time going AROUND, but I didn't care. I hoped to slide right over 'em neatly. Besides, if I came across breaking waves, I would know to turn out toward sea. Since the west coast of Florida leans toward the west as one goes north, and since the wind was turning more southerly, I could certainly make it back to shore farther north, even if it meant CLEARWATER.

So I started north. I planned (there I go planning things again!) to work my way back to that same anchorage where I'd stayed the night before. I should be back by dark. I never made it.

I've failed at everything in my life, and now here I was, failing again. I remember reading that people who get lost in the woods don't die of starvation, they die of SHAME. They're embarrassed to have gotten lost, and ashamed that they didn't know how to survive, and consequently they would give up and make bad decisions, and die of exposure and/or dehydration, while vegetation (for warmth) and water (at the bottom of most valleys) was all around. I thought about this. I too felt embarrassed, ashamed that my life was a failure, and here is another example, perhaps the final example. It all fit perfectly.

I kept heading north. And very soon, amazingly, I was approaching the south tip of Egmont Key again. I had to make it back up that channel, but I couldn't quite make it, and had to TURN again. South, south, south I went across that wide channel. The incoming tide was ending, I knew, and I knew I had to hurry to avoid the outgoing tide. When I reached the nav buoy out in the middle of the channel, I knew I had to soon turn around and beat back north and east again, because deadly shoals awaited further south in that channel. I waited as long as I could, and turned.

Crash! Boom! Crash! I turned, and realigned, and soon realized I couldn't make it. My mainsail alone wasn't allowing me to go upwind at an acute enough angle.

"I must put up the jib," I realized. OH. MY. GOD.

********

PART FOUR: FAILURE

Egmont Key from the north:

Oh. My. God. "...I must get the jib up." In that wind, it seemed impossible, but I had to try.

I pointed up into the wind, and secured the mainsail directly in the middle, and I lashed the wheel directly in the middle, and I waited. I wanted to see what would happen.

And, well, a miracle happened! That is, NOTHING. Wind Song seemed to just SIT there, laid-up and happy like a cork on the water. We were "in irons" as they say, and essentially hove-to. If the wind started to push her in one direction, she would round up into the wind and just putter about, maybe moving forward slightly, but not much. Good!

Now for the jib. This thing is WAY too big for these conditions, I knew. But, here goes... It went right up, and then

KABAAAAAMM!!!

it caught the wind, and WOW

we were off like a race horse!!!

I didn't realize how useful a jib is in going upwind. Man, we were FLYING! Now I knew.

But I had two problems. One, pulling the jib sheet (the rope) in all the way and securing it was ENORMOUSLY difficult. Second, Wind Song was now heeled so far over that the leeward wave action was coming right over the leeward rail (top edge of the hull) and threatening to plop right into the cockpit. No way. Much much too much sail area.

So, down comes the jib! I released the halyard and the jib slid right down. Actually, it came down in a huge mess. I ran forward and secured it haphazardly, and went back to the cockpit.

Hmm... That didn't work! Or, really, it DID work, but there was too much sail up. I needed a smaller jib, and I needed a way to reef the mainsail. ...Man, I NEVER intended to get into these type of conditions before making those improvements. Oh, well... It was embarrassing. I knew this day was an embarrassment for me. I should not be out here. I should have listened to the forecast in the morning right before I left.

But make the best of it, I thought.

But first things first. I had to piss. I would have simply pissed over the side, but there simply wasn't anything substantial enough to hold onto. My docile Wind Song had been transformed into a bucking maverick. So I secured the helm again, heaving-to essentially, and waited a moment to make sure it would take care of itself, and I went below to fill-up a water bottle, so to speak. ...Inside, trying to stand was near impossible. This kinda scared me. Made me realize just how much movement/abuse Wind Song was taking. ...And pissing? Ha! I fell...TWICE! The second time, the urine stream went flying toward the ceiling and all over. Hilarious! I laughed out loud! I got up and managed to finish, sort of... I hurried back up the companionway ladder, a smile smeared across my face.

The afternoon was upon us. "Two o'clock? Oh, my... I need to get out of here!" I needed to get to safe harbor. No more smiling.

But I had to figure-out how to get the jib up and the mainsail down, simultaneously. Hmm...

And somehow I did it! A little at a time, I'd bring the mainsail down a bit, and pull up on the jib halyard, back and forth, back and forth, fearing that if I lost all sail power at any point Wind Song would get turned sideways to the waves, and I didn't know WHAT would happen then. So I wrestled with the sails, I wrestled with the wheel, I wrestled with... the sea.

And finally the main was down and secured around the boom, and the jib was up and trimmed and, WOW, we were storming forward better than ever! THIS is working, I thought. Woo-hoo!

Of course, I had two problems. The day was slipping away, allowing an outgoing tide to reach full force, and allowing night to get nearer. I did NOT want to be out here at night, not fighting this anyway, so close to shore. No way. And the other problem was the jib itself. It was so big that it was virtually impossible to trim properly, even with the winches. Over and over it would rip from my hands and winch, even when it was "secured" in a jam cleat!

But we were still rushing forward AND UPWIND nicely. I can do this, I thought.

Tacking became the real problem, however. Going upwind in a sailboat, you're really just going upwind at an angle, making a few degrees of advance, and then you turn the opposite direction and make a few degrees of headway upwind, in that direction, like climbing a mountain on a goat path, back and forth, back and forth. But tacking, that turning I had to perform over and over was, well, it was ruining everything. Every time I turned, I had to untie the jib sheet from one side, and then retie it on the other. That doesn't sound like much, but what it means is that the sailor must again TRIM the sail, which means PULLING. And, man, I pulled and pulled and pulled, using the winch for help, and SWOOOOSH-ZIIIPP! the line would slip from my gloved hands, and I pull and pull it back. And in the meantime, we're getting blown the wrong direction, losing all the gains we'd just made! Over and over! ...This was surely a section in Dante's Divine Comedy. I am the man who pushes the boulder up the mountain, only to see it fall all the way back down again, over and over. That's EXACTLY what I was thinking.

Four o'clock.

This ain't happening. I was utterly exhausted. At one point, I had a strange feeling of clarity. I simply looked around. Everywhere, there were breaking waves. Everywhere, the gale was blowing off the crests off the waves, leaving streaks of white across the boiling surface. Boiling surface. That's it. It looked as if Poseidon was cooking-up a salty stew for his Olympic buddies.

I'm outta here.

I knew I had one more "bail-out." I could simply slip around to the side of Egmont Key, on the GULF OF MEXICO side, and I would out of the waves. Unfortunately, the area, especially the south and north ends, was very shallow. But I didn't care. I looked up. We were only a couple of hundred feet from the southern tip of Egmont's beach. White sand, and calm waters. So inviting. Here I come!

I checked the chart. Must avoid some shoals, but I DO NOT want to go too far BACK OUT TO SEA.

...I make it. We zip quite quickly right into the lee of Egmont.

Nice! No more waves. Even though I was on the ocean side of the island rather than the bay side, I was protected from the waves because the wind was blowing out-to-sea.

Strange. So quiet, so suddenly. Or not really QUIET, but smooth. The gale was blowing directly over the island's trees and then right down into my rigging, which sang its lonesome song.

Peaceful though, no matter. We effortlessly slipped toward the beach, getting as close as we dared (about 50 feet away). Down goes the anchor.

The wind quickly eases us back away from the beach as I hand-out the anchor line. More, more, more line. I'm letting it all out. I tie it off. Peace. I sit down atop the forward hatch. Peace. I notice that I'm breathing hard. My mouth is open. I hear the air rushing in and out. I am completely, utterly exhausted. But there's peace now, and relief. What tomorrow will bring I do not know. The night is almost here. I sigh, I sigh long and hard. It's all a huge failure. But I'm safe. Safe again. ...But, wait, what's that sound? Plip-plop, plippity-plop. The sky begins to rain.

*******

Egmont Key Lighthouse

PART FIVE: VICTORY?:

I slept for an hour or two, fitfully. Night descended quickly. I got up and ate something, and drank a beer half-way, and watched the night. The wind still howled above me, Behind me, a half mile, I could see the white rollers out to sea, and all that boiling, even in the dark. Man.

The weather radio told me of the changed forecast. I'd been in "Near Gale" conditions, which, really, is the same thing as gale conditions, more or less. Not a "Strong Gale" and certainly not tropical storm conditions, but, really, not that far off. All watercraft were more or less "ordered" to get off the water, or "strongly encouraged." The Sunshine Skyway Bridge had closed. But I was safe.

About 11 PM, I went to bed, all warm and dry. I noticed that, while lying in my bunk, I could simply turn my head and see the flash of Egmont's lighthouse beacon. As long as I could wake-up during the night, glance over at the port window, and see that flash, I knew I was OK. I mean, if I WERE to drag anchor, it would simply mean I'd be slowly pushed out to deeper water. No disaster. When the wave action picked-up, I'd be awakened, and I could get up and deal with it, no big deal. But I didn't drag anchor. My bent anchor held fine. Of course, I DID wake up a couple of times during the night, but each time I would casually turned my head to look to port and saw the flash of the lighthouse, and I fall back to sleep, feeling dead.

At dawn I was up. The tide chart showed that the incoming tide wouldn't hit until the afternoon, so I had to wait. The bad conditions were forecast to stick around for another 24 hours, but the wind would turn more toward the south and eventually southwest the next day. Some sort of low-pressure system was wheeling around the Florida peninsula somewhere, causing this havoc. The NOAA computerized voices' statements were often hard to decipher. What's really going on? I couldn't figure it out completely. NOAA just droned on and on with endless numbers.

I made a decision. I would GO. "I can't stay here and wait for the wave action to start moving around the island. So I pulled-in the anchor. It was full of beautiful sand. And as I did, I realized that the wave action was ALREADY starting to move around the southern tip and bend around toward us. As soon as I got the anchor it, me and Wind Song made a u-turn for deeper water. Don't want to get caught on a lee shore.

But we didn't go far. A couple of hundred yards at most. We sailed then north, and then back south, following the beach, but well away. I watched as the waves, over the next hour or so, started really slamming the beach. I'd gotten away just in the nick of time. The gale was coming from nearly due south, or at least it seemed that way. The energetic waves were coming from the south, that's for sure.

I HAD to find safe harbor this day. I was exhausted. I hurt all over. My hands were raw and were so stiff I couldn't close them.

So we sailed under mainsail. This way were very maneuverable and even nimble.

Looking at the charts, and feeling slightly desperate, I decided to do something slightly foolish. Instead of following the chart and going WAY out to sea to get around the shoals at the north end of Egmont, I would simply drive Wind Song as fast as I could directly across the shallow water. With the waves moving in, I knew it would be rough, but I thought it a good risk. The tide was only now just beginning to go out, so we were still at high tide, mostly. This can work.

As so we did it. We just DID IT. We headed for the shoals. It was only a 30 second trip, due north, here they come, here they come... And suddenly me and Wind Song are lifted UP UP UP ... and we're SURFING! "WOO-HOOOO!" I shout, grinning ear to ear. But then we begin to broach, turn sideways. This was the great danger, especially with no jib. Get turned sideways to the big wave, and then OVER you go, capsized, shipwrecked.

We were a hundred feet from the beach, at the northern tip, and as we surfed, and broached, and as I violently turned the wheel to try to correct us, I spotted the crashing waves on the beach, in my periphery vision, they were no near!, and I remember thinking, "This is so much better than sitting in front of my PC all day, surfing the Net and playing artificial games."

And suddenly we straightened, and we didn't hit bottom, and we made it! "Woo-hoo!" We were thrown right around the tip of the island and out into...into...into the big ship channel. And, of course, as we cleared the island's tip, and I could see around the island's trees, I immediately noticed a ship RIGHT THERE, hurrying down the channel. Holy cow! I turned to starboard and back upwind, aiming the the channel marker. The ship had to stay out in the channel, but I wasn't sure exactly where I was in relation to the channel, too much happening too quickly, but I knew I wanted to get close to that buoy/marker. Man that ship is FAST, and CLOSE. ...But I was never in danger. I eased along the edge of the channel, and passed nonchalantly between the buoy and the beach on the very northern tip of the Island. We were briefly out of the waves again.

But, look at this! All of Tampa Bay opened ahead of me as I beat eastward. The ship passed to my stern, and I faced the bay and could see the Skyway bridge, a few miles to the east. That was my goal. Fight through the bay to near the bridge, and then along the little Skyway yacht channel over to where I'd been the previous morning, next to Indian Key and safety.

Yet, could I make it upwind? I still needed to work upwind mostly. Hmm... We'll see. And the TIDE! The tide is coming out! I mean, I could always drift off toward Fort Desoto Beach and throw out the anchor again, but that's a stopgap. I REALLY needed to find safe harbor and get some real rest TODAY.

So me and Wind Song SLOWLY beat windward for over 3 hours. Another ship, actually, got in our way. I think it was dredging the ship channel or something, drifting about here and there...I don't know... But then it moved and we continued, and actually never broke course in our tacking.

"That damn ship better move, 'cause I ain't tackin' more than I need today," Wind Song snarled. I saw men atop the ship, and I wondered what they thought of me and my little sailboat, bouncing up and down, up and down. They were watching me. I wondered if were hailing me... Funny.

And so we made it. One last long tack toward the northern end of the Skyway bridge, about an hour's worth, and we were nearly home-free. The waves were getting knocked down again too, as we were gently getting into shallow water. I cheated farther toward the north, around the eastern side of Fort Desoto park, and I looked and looked for the yacht channel. I couldn't find it. I knew it was there somewhere, but I couldn't find the buoys. I HAD to find the buoys. The water gets VERY shallow, as in ONE FOOT shallow, and you MUST be in the channel.

But finally we found it. "Four more miles, and we're home!"

This was nice. The channel was completely out of the waves, but as I headed due north, the wind was nearly dead astern. With only my mainsail up, the steering was squirrel-ly. And I must've really been wasted. I managed to have TWO accidental jibes. Good way to get yourself killed. The boom without warning swings forcefully across the cockpit. Bad for the rigging, bad for the nerves, bad sailing.
But, boy oh boy, we really flew otherwise. Smooth water, and the wind pushing fast fast fast "homeward," four miles to the north.

And before I knew it, we were there. Sweet, sweet, sweet. A careful jibe to port, and then another back to starboard, and up around to a good spot, and down come the sails and down goes the anchor. In a few moments, I'm lounging in the cockpit, drowsy, but eating a little lunch. Soon, I retire for a wonderful wonderful wonderful nap. We did it! Wow...

********

Conclusion: A Kind of Tragedy:

Indeed, I'd never been so happy in my life. I had "found myself." I was what I had always been intended to be, a cruising sailor, an artist, a traveler of the world. OK, OK, so I hadn't gone very far, and I'd even FAILED to get where I needed to go. And I'd lost my dinghy, and of course, the two motors were useless and the radio was long dead, and I only had a hundred and ten bucks in my pocket... Yet I was easily happier than at any time in my life, and I HAD traveled greatly... greatly in my own soul. My new life stretched before me like a sunny warm day.

The next day, perplexed, I decided to take a quick sail back up to Apollo Beach. With the gale dying overnight, but with a still nice southwest breeze, I would zip up to Apollo Beach and call my friend Radar, and see if he would sell his dinghy to me, or if he knew of one... Or maybe he could give me a ride to Wal-Mart where I could buy a toy dinghy real cheap. SOMETHING anyway, to get me from ship to shore, so to speak. ...Hmm...There I go making plans again.

So I sailed, but it wasn't quick. The wind died while I was in the middle of Tampa Bay, and I wished I'd never tried. Oh well, halfway there... Radar will enjoy the story of my adventure, if nothing else, and then I'll head to Venice again with the right weather window.

And, yes, some breeze returned, and then a little cool front came in that afternoon, and I made it back into the Apollo Beach basin. But it took all day. Wasn't planning that. Aaahhh... And it's funny. Sailing suddenly seemed such a simple thing. I was still sore from my "adventuring," but I got both sails up and cruised around easily. Nothing to it! ...Again: funny.

But the next day things changed.

Captain Richard visited me and convinced me to come back down the canal (one mile!) and help him with his boat. He said he would pay for one month's dockage back at the same location as before, and I would paint the sheer stripe on the side of his sailboat and help with the wood trim brightwork. (He had returned from his charter cruise using his big diesel engine while I was out there fighting with only sails, and he said it was VERY nasty for them.) He said I would be foolish to head to Venice now, and that I should stay in Apollo Beach and work on his boat and then get a job at Circle-K or something and save money and fix-up my boat's problems... or, he said, I'd be foolish. He also gave me a very nice 22 lb. anchor and 150' of good anchor line and chain, more or less NEW, and more or less FREE. "Now I know you're SAFE, son, with this ground tackle."

Remember, Richard was the one from whom I'd bought Wind Song in the first place (through the local youth sailing club/charity) and he and his wife, Thurline, had fed me meals many many times, and had given me a nice hand-held bearing compass as a parting gift a couple of weeks earlier. So... I went back down that damn canal to the dock. Richard towed me. As we moved along, I began crying. I'd been gone ten days.

*********

Thurline aboard she and Richard's beautiful yacht Devana:

It actually didn't take long to do the sheer stripe. A few days. Mostly waiting for each layer to dry. But it was hard work. Some the guys around the old yacht club there said, "Welcome Home!" I wanted to punch them, or cry again. I had to get out of there. The longer you stay at dock, the harder it is to get away. That's why I was terrified of coming back. I might not ever leave.

And I never did.

Me, after a long day painting (notice the blue stuff on my hands):

I'm not sure how it happened. Some people wanted portraits, and a real cold front came in, and summer was over. I was desperate to get out before winter. I was desperate to get to The Keys. But I was curious about doing more portraits, and I started messing around with oils, which I considered the "ultimate" medium. And then I found a "free" place to dock the boat, and then winter hit HARD, it seemed. I did some portraits and caricatures, and made a little money, and sold my little 2 hp motor to Radar for $100.

Next thing you know, it was January, and I knew it was too late. Man it was cold.

I became a real expert with Ramen noodles and such. Several people expressed interest in portraits and stuff, and I did some more work, but as 2009 got rolling, everyone was fearing lay-offs, and then people I knew actually DID begin getting laid-off. Money seemed tight for everyone, and an artist is at the bottom of the food chain, economically.

Of course, this was the coldest winter in recent memory.

So I waited for Spring. I figured, come March 1st, I'm outta here. I had begun playing with watercolors, and discovered that, with gouache added, watercolors could be used almost like oils or acrylics. And the great thing about watercolors is that both the medium and the support are cheap and readily available. I could almost immediately begin selling watercolor paintings in front of one of the business in Apollo Beach, or even aside the sidewalk (until I got run off!).

So, I had plan... Or not.

My sister called from Texas. She said she'd buy a vehicle so I could get back to Orlando. (I'd already told her that I thought I might like to go back and try being a serious artist first, sailor second, so to speak. Plus, some family members were having trouble with a house up that way, and I thought I might be able to help with that, too.) And so my sister bought me a van! Wow! And then all my old friends in Orlando seemed to come out to help me, and I was told "You're part of the family, Tim, we welcome you back."

But then, later, after things were starting to go well, I learned that I wasn't as "welcomed back" as I thought. And then I was rejected for the portrait artist forum (through their jury process) to which I had so eagerly looked forward, and which confirms my suspicion: I'm years away from being a top-notch portrait artist.

So, suddenly, with a SHOCK, I find myself wallowing around in Orlando and constantly wondering, "HOOOOOOWWWWWW the heck did this happen????!!!!!!!" ...I'm lost.

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

Epilogue:

What to do? I don't know. I just got rid of Wind Song in order to get another boat, but that new boat deal fell through, so now I'm just a lame landlubber again, shipwrecked. And I've been suffering the most acute depression of my adult life for several weeks now.

Hmm... My mind is coming back to life, however, and the depression is lifting with the warm, tropical weather of May in Orlando, Florida.... Aaahhhhhh.... Maybe I AM best suited to be a sailor first, artist second... We'll see.

Wind Song reluctantly back at dock, a sad event:

Goodbye, Wind Song

2009-05-27T22:22:00.004-05:00

The sad day has come. I've gotten rid of my beloved Islander 24 sailboat, Wind Song. I'm giving it to my good friend Radar. He always admired it, and he's helped me a lot, really a lot, and so it just seemed natural. She's actually not worth much, so I think it's a blessing that he wants it. ...Wind Song, may your trim be taut and your hull moving cleanly for years to come.

I haven't be on her for a couple of months, and the rain got to her. First, today, I saw that she is sitting much too low in the water:

And then I discover the culprit (as I had guessed)...a great deal of water inside:

And as for me? I'm gonna sail around the world in a secret vessel. More to come!

OK, Okay, some artwork

2009-05-24T22:54:00.005-05:00

A pencil sketch (unfinished, really) from Keelan's book. Doing a "portrait" like this is excellent practice for the eye, even when most of your income is from caricaturing:

And a quadruple caricature of four kids, from today. It was at the end of the day, and I could barely lift my shoulder, but since I don't get many of these, I took a snap. The family was from Puerto Rico, and the parents were laughing, laughing, and I asked WHY, and they said that it is so funny because it looks EXACTLY like all the kids. Nice compliment. ...:

The Nature of Conspiratorial Effort (A Video Interview)

2009-05-23T13:07:00.007-05:00

I have never believed in conspiracies. I've always laughed at conspiracy theories. I am a natural skeptic.

But in the last couple of years, I've learned some subtleties on this subject. I've thought, What IS a conspiracy? One definition might be, "A relatively small group of men who plan in secret a controversial activity." And if that is the case, then history is full of conspiracies. 9/11 was a conspiracy of 19 hijackers. The activities of the CIA are largely a long string of international secret plots, conspiracies. The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor was a result of an Asian conspiracy. In fact, I heard a fellow say that history was once taught as a sequence of conspiratorial efforts, rather than the somewhat boring teachings we have now of ...what? I mean, how do we teach history these days? Do we think of history as a sequence of accidents? Or some natural randomness of human relations, like bowling pins being knocked-about carelessly...?

I think history is an intertwined mixture of complicated, massive human planning and folly. We plan, we dream, we conspire. (My personal history is a good example of plans planned, and plans failed, a conspiracy of one.)

...So when I came across the following video last year, I was thinking of just these things.
I had never heard of Norman Dodd. As it turns out, he, like us all, is a witness to history. But what he saw in his life was amazing. He was a banker. In this video, just before his death, he bares his soul, in a way. He tells of his association with the financial elite of our world, and says that, yes, the financial elite are men like us, and as such they naturally plan and conspire to shape the world as they see fit. The critical idea here is that these men have enormous power to make extraordinary changes.

It's important to note that we, as individuals, make our way through life as individuals and as families and in small, relatively powerless groups. At "higher levels" of society, decisions affect larger numbers of people, and we define this as "power." At the top of this conceptually-inverted pyramid of influence we have...who? The president? The government? Who? Likely, at the very top of power in our world, we have the financial elite, especially bankers and their myriad associated efforts and organizations. Prominent among these, I've learned, are what are called "Tax Exempt Foundations." They are charities, of a sort. People and businesses (and governments) give them money, and they use this money for...what? I always thought they fed the poor and things like that, but much of what they do is SHAPE CULTURE. These foundations (and the associated financial institutions) use their gigantic sums of money to influence every fundamental aspect of American and international life. A year ago, this subject was a revelation.

In this rather unassuming video, this man, Norman Dodd, gives witness to these institutions, or, actually, gives witness to the men who control these institutions, their motives and political goals. And these motives and goals are so astounding, so life-shattering for the viewer, one is likely, like me, to be moved to a real sense of horror, and to tears.

Remember, this video seems at first a boring little interview. But be patient. The very essence of the 20th Century is hinted. Our perceived reality is rarely accurate. "What really happened" in the past was a process of human planning and human efforts to implement those plans.

(If the video doesn't run right away, give it a moment and then click the play/pause button a couple of times, or the "progress line" beside it. And if all fails, just go to YouTube and search "Norman Dodd." The interview is all there, but in 6 parts, like #1 of 6, #2 of 6, etc.)

POSTSCRIPT: I suppose the final impression I have is of world leaders who probably agree that a united global culture, no matter the cost, is the goal. And many of them are quite willing to advance their wealth in so doing.

David Rockefeller, the elder member of America's great financial institution known as the Rockefeller family:
"For more than a century, ideological extremists at either end of the political spectrum have seized upon well-publicized incidents such as my encounter with Castro to attack the Rockefeller family for the inordinate influence they claim we wield over American political and economic institutions. Some even believe we are part of a secret cabal working against the best interests of the United States, characterizing my family and me as 'internationalists' and of conspiring with others around the world to build a more integrated global political and economic structure — one world, if you will. If that is the charge, I stand guilty, and I am proud of it."
* Page 405 of Rockefeller's autobiography, "Memoirs", ISBN-13: 978-0812969733

And I'll throw in one more video. It's an interview with movie producer Aaron Russo. The opinions expressed are so shocking as to be unbelievable, and I must question the veracity. Yet...decide for yourself:

Should we acknowledge the economic collapse?

2009-05-22T23:58:00.003-05:00

This is a hard post for me. I, like most, have been trying to be "positive" by "ignoring" our economic situation. Back when I was living on my sailboat (this past winter) I would listen to the Glenn Beck radio show each morning at 9 AM. Sometimes I simply had to turn OFF that program. It was too depressing. Glenn would firmly state the need for us to prepare ourselves, to gather canned food and clean water in storage, to get our money out of the stock market, to buy gold, to save, to prepare...to prepare for the coming Great Depression.

I couldn't listen to it sometimes. I'd turn Glenn off, turn on some hard rock, and play my electronic chess game.

...And now here I am, subcontracting at Disney in Orlando again, and everything seems fine, lots of customers, like always, everything's cool. But I follow the news. And after some hopeful signs this spring, I am suddenly struck by a sense of fear again. Anyone else feel this way? ...I wonder, I fear, I don't know what to do...

Well, this is what I'm figuring-out: Let's face it. Let us face the possibility that our great nation is, simply, coming to an end. ...Wow, that's dramatic. Crazy. Crazy crazy crazy insane.

But let me put it this way: as I look things over, I feel as if we're on the precipice of an ugly slope.

I remember, I remember...Years ago I was a ski bum. I would work the winters up in the Rocky Mountains, and ski during my off days. It was beautiful. But there was fear. There'd be beauty, and there'd be fear. I'd ski a slope, nice and easy, and then it'd get a bit steep, a challenge, but beautiful. Yet then I'd lose all sense of beauty: I'd reach a too too steep section, and there'd be only fear. It was strange. One moment, all was well, and then, in a flash, I'm standing befuddled atop a steep, dangerous slope... And there was no turning back. Oh, I could WAIT. I could putter about. I could look at the view, a view that was still, really, astonishingly beautiful, but the truth still oppressed me: I had to face the danger.

And our world feels the same now. We are putting-off the inevitable, that steep dangerous slope with all these bailouts and purposeful ignoring. But the sooner we face our economic dilemma, the better, I'm thinking. We must face it, and stop burying our heads in "positive thinking" or "hope."

I know that sounds brutal, and perhaps some will again accuse me of melancholy. Right they are! I am melancholy. As Woody Allen says, "Life is full of misery, anguish, and horror, and ends much too soon." (I paraphrase.) MEANING lies in the moments of clarity and courage.

So I propose THIS:

WE BE COURAGEOUS.

It is quite likely that all we know is collapsing around us. Let us not be ostriches. Let us lift our heads from the sand and observe. Let us observe the beauty, and let us observe the steep slope.

Perhaps we will lose our homes. Perhaps we will be hungry. But we have our friends, and we have our families. And friendship is the most powerful political entity man knows. Friendship cures the ill of oppression, and heals the violent emotion of failed familial history and impulse.

And I came across this video today. I knew of this man (Gerald Celente) and his claims before, but now I feel strong enough to face it. And he, obviously, is not the only one forecasting gloom, but he is perhaps the most celebrated pessimist of our time. Unfortunately, he has a history of accuracy:

POSTSCRIPT: ...I mean...Let's see...I am not saying this Great Depression WILL CERTAINLY happen. What I'm saying is, we should start preparing for it. I know, I said "likely." But what I really mean is "quite possibly." He should face the real possibility of the event. I haven't been, but I'm trying to now. That's all...

Oh, and one more observation. A Great Depression doesn't necessarily mean the end of the nation, of course. (Although doomsday scenarios exist.) In fact, such an economic downturn would still find 3 out of 4 people working, likely, and life would go on, and Disney would likely keep going, and people would keep going on vacation, and caricatures and portraits will still be wanted. "The End" is likely much too pessimistic a tone, realistically speaking.

New pics of me

2009-05-07T09:06:00.007-05:00

My friend Radar sent these to me yesterday. They were taken last October right about the time I went on my sailing trip (which was cut short). Read previous post about what happened on that trip.

Recent Caricatures

2009-04-11T07:49:00.003-05:00

Sheeeeee-ty Couple of Days

2009-04-04T23:51:00.003-05:00

...But drawing tonight at home really calmed me down. I had received some absolutely HORRIBLE news a couple of days ago, and have been FREAKING OUT. Emotional stability is NOT my strength.
Anyway... I finally made a little progress on my portrait of Lawrence and his wife tonight. (I keep my sailboat tied to his dock down on Tampa Bay.) He gave me a wonderful but very small photograph. Impossible, really. So I had Mike scan it and email the image. You can see the printed photo and then the PC screen image in one of the pics I've provided below. Better, larger, but still not great. I would've printed-out a couple of full-size pages for the faces, but my printer is out of ink, and I am out of money. So, I took "comparative" measurements directly from the screen, and, voila, I got a couple of acceptable likeness which can be transferred to the canvas. It's really just a starting point, but, man, I've been sketching these two off and on for two or three weeks, and it's high time I got this thing done and delivered. Now for the fun part: oil paint!

The Other Side of the Job Picture: Over 4 Million Hired in January

2009-04-01T09:11:00.002-05:00

I came across this video on CNN this morning. I always know there are valid alternative views of every issue. For instance, 20% unemployment means 80% EMPLOYMENT.
Also, I firmly believe it's a case of darwinian stamina and skill. The cream rises to the top.

Legalize Drugs? Read This. (By Jack Cafferty)

2009-03-31T08:29:00.000-05:00

NEW YORK (CNN) -- Here's something to think about:

How many police officers and sheriff's deputies are involved in investigating and solving crimes involving illegal drugs? And arresting and transporting and interrogating and jailing the suspects?

How many prosecutors and their staffs spend time prosecuting drug cases? How many defense lawyers spend their time defending drug suspects?

How many hours of courtroom time are devoted to drug trials? How many judges, bailiffs, courtroom security officers, stenographers, etc., spend their time on drug trials?

How many prison cells are filled with drug offenders? And how many corrections officers does it take to guard them? How much food do these convicts consume?

And when they get out, how many parole and probation officers does it take to supervise their release? And how many ex-offenders turn right around and do it again?

So how's this war on drugs going?

Someone described insanity as doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result each time. That's a perfect description of the war on drugs.
Don't Miss

* Cafferty: My battle with alcoholism
* The Cafferty File: Join the conversation
* Jack's new book: "Now or Never"
* In Depth: Commentaries

The United States is the largest illegal drug market in the world. Americans want their weed, crack, cocaine, heroin, whatever. And they're willing to pay big money to get it.

The drug suppliers are only too happy to oblige. The Mexican drug cartels now have operations in 230 American cities. That's 230 American cities!

And we're not just talking about border towns, but places such as Anchorage, Alaska; Boston, Massachusetts; Atlanta, Georgia; and Billings, Montana. They're everywhere. And they don't just bring drugs, but violence and crime as well -- lots of it at no extra charge.

They have been able to infiltrate those 230 cities because we have not bothered to secure our borders. In addition to illegal aliens who come here to work and avail themselves of our social programs, we have criminals from Mexico bringing drugs in, taking money and guns back, and recruiting American kids into their criminal enterprises while they're here. iReport.com: Is it time to legalize pot?

What do you suppose the total price tag is for this failed war on drugs? One senior Harvard economist estimates we spend $44 billion a year fighting the war on drugs. He says if they were legal, governments would realize about $33 billion a year in tax revenue. Net swing of $77 billion. Could we use that money today for something else? You bet your ass we could. Plus the cartels would be out of business. Instantly. Goodbye crime and violence.

If drugs were legalized, we could empty out a lot of our prison cells. People will use this stuff whether it's legal or not. Just like they do booze. And you could make the argument that in some cases alcohol is just as dangerous as some drugs. I know.

Like I said ... something to think about. It's time.

The opinions expressed in this commentary are solely those of Jack Cafferty.

Comparing portraits

2009-03-27T15:13:00.007-05:00

Igor V. Babailov is a rather famous portrait painter. He is commissioned for formal oil portraits by presidents and by popes. Me? I just started oil painting. I'm basically "feeling my way through the dark."
I thought I'd compare an oil painting of Igor's with one of mine, as a learning exercise. I took his oil of George Bush and my oil of James (a welder by trader), and placed them side by side. Interesting. I need to improve.

Further Explanation...

2009-03-27T07:38:00.002-05:00

The Simulation Argument, further explanation, personally:
OK, OK, I'm not saying that I actually think another, earlier civilization created a simulation of our universe, and that we're all just computer programs. But I think now that there IS something more going on around here, something more than just dumb matter.

Let me explain. ... Way back when, I used to like to read books about physics. Nature is mind-boggling. And one of the most interesting things I read was this: Nature apparently behaves exactly like a simulation. This idea had actually popped-up in physics some decades earlier, I think, and so it's not a new idea. Just a curious observation.
...And I know from philosophy-reading that for centuries individuals have fancifully conjectured that our cosmos is "an idea in God's head" or "an immaterial abstraction" running its course... or a dream God once had (or NIGHTMARE?). I don't actually remember the descriptions, but it was something like that.

...So all these strange ideas have been floating around in my head for some time. And then I came across The Simulation Argument on the WWW. Wow, I thought. A powerful, simple, logical argument for the existence of a greater intelligence. Wow. It blew me away. I looked at the stars in a new way. I looked at granules of sand in a new way. All was suddenly instilled with intelligence.
I mean, from the physics side, think about this: Everything is made of atoms. And what is an atom? An atom contains NOTHING, basically. Just a set of FORCES, which can be described, in a sense, as a set of INSTRUCTIONS. There really is no "stuff" in atoms, and thus there is no "stuff" in any physical entity, not in the stars, not in grains of sand, not in our bodies. Just forces/instructions. The job of physics and science is to "figure-out" these instructions.
But the obvious question is, "Where the heck did these dang instructions COME FROM??!!!" That particular question just about killed me, literally. For years I read and read, got more and more depressed, but kept getting up each morning and looking at the grains of sand, and I would just shake my head. And then, for me, something amazing happened: I kept living. I kept finding that I would indeed awaken each morning, over and over, days and days, and nights and nights... And the years passed. That's an amazing thing.
So I relaxed. I stopped thinking about all this gut-wrenching stuff, the questions of ORIGIN. And somewhere along the curve of my lifetime, I got a job as a truck driver (somehow) and drove cross-country, alone, alone with my thoughts, FOR TWELVE YEARS.
And now I find myself in the 21st Century, living as an artist (somehow: another miracle), getting up each morning, and shaking my head at the grains of sand in my sandals, and I'm amazed, because the simulation argument has helped me APPRECIATE the cosmos again, and appreciate the questions, and, really, wonder.

So did an earlier civilization create us? Maybe. I don't know. Did a "Godhead" fashion this reality from a type of machine? Maybe. I don't know. But what I FEEL is that there is definitely something going on here. Here, within this set of instructions we call our lives, our jobs, friends, pets, thoughts.
Here, looking at my keyboard, I am shocked to feel its warmth, a living thing, this keyboard, living with intelligence, its smooth surface communicating with my skin: "Feel this? Feel this? Good. I feel you too."

Are You Living In a Computer Simulation?

2009-03-26T12:26:00.003-05:00

Don't laugh just yet. A professor at Oxford, Nick Bostrom, a few years ago published a scholarly article which examines the possibility of our reality being, in fact, a computer simulation rather than what we might call a "real" reality, or a "first reality." I've read it, and its logic is undeniable. It is so astonishing, actually, that one fellow commented this:

"The Simulation Argument is perhaps the first interesting argument for the existence of a Creator in 2000 years."

And I agree with that. I've studied religion. I've studied philosophy. (Although I'm certainly no academic, and a number of years of partying have certainly diminished my faculties and memory, to be honest.) Religion relies on faith and, frankly, not asking too many questions. Now I'm not talking about any PARTICULAR religion, simply religious faith in general. Faith is a separate consideration from logic. And none of this DENIES any religious beliefs, actually. It's just that the great religions of the world were not created in an atmosphere of criticism or debate, and were never intended to be scientifically scrutinized in their original forms, because, simply, science was a creation of the Greeks, formally speaking (although they didn't call it science) and did not exist in other cultures, other religious-making cultures. Religions do not have very interesting arguments on their side, by default.
My point is, this "simulation argument" can be taken as an extremely logical suggestion that a "supreme being," so to speak, does exist, most likely. It's still rather vague, and but it does suggest that God is a lot more than some white-bearded fellow sitting on a gold throne in the clouds sort-of-thing. Read the argument for yourself. Do a search on google, if you like, too.
Note: To really blow your mind, watch The Matrix after a couple of hours of reading about this stuff. As Keanu Reeves would say, "Duuuuude."

Why I don't use drugs

2009-03-26T09:03:00.007-05:00

Of course, I have more than one reason I don't use drugs. For instance, most mood-altering drugs tend to degrade other pleasures and interests, which I find more important, like clear thinking. Clear thinking is a miracle, really. To be able to see the world in our minds, and fashion it as we will, and communicate these thoughts to others, clearly (as I'm trying to do now) is a blessing from the Cosmos or from God, or however you wish to characterize it. But drugs all too often inhibit this.
Another reason I don't use drugs: I don't want to support drug cartels. The suffering we Americans hand-down to these poor nations is reprehensible. I shall not be part of it. This video is yet another example of this specific horror visiting our brothers and sisters, our neighbors, in Mexico:

And here's yet another horrible story just today (by Anderson Cooper, CNN):

http://ac360.blogs.cnn.com/2009/03/26/the-streets-of-juarez/

Honda's Android Project

2009-03-26T00:24:00.004-05:00

I am fascinated by technology for several reasons. And robotics is at the fore of this fascination.

Many don't realize how far robotics has come. With cheaper and more powerful integrated circuits and computation, and clever programming, we are moving closer to the paradigm-shifting appearance of a "universal robot" on earth. A universal robot is a robot which can be programmed to do just about anything a human can, if I understand the concept properly. Perhaps these marvels will appear, even, within the next decade or so.

Honda has the most advanced robot to date, Asimo. See high-def video of him here:
http://world.honda.com/HDTV/ASIMO/

Asimo is a stunning revelation for those who haven't been paying much attention to robotics. Usually robotics stories come at the END of a newscast, a little "human interest" story, so to speak. But robotics is developing rapidly, and its reality may soon overwhelm us. I know I indeed was stunned a few years ago when I learned that Honda had created a robot which walked like a human, even up stairs and inclines. And now Asimo is handling objects well, and interacting with humans, and even charging-up his battery pack by himself.
There are about 100 Asimo robots so far, and, of course, they're still in beta, or alpha, testing (although they CAN be rented for about $160,000 a year). They are constantly being upgraded. They recognize faces, and they speak a limited Japanese. They can hold your hand and walk with you, smoothly. They can bring you a drink.
The appearance of a universal robot is near.

...And did you know that there are cars which drive themselves? I mean, REALLY drive themselves. Through city traffic, or out in the desert and mountains, with no driver whatsoever, no remote control. Of course, they're still in beta testing, too, or maybe I should say alpha testing, actually.
The military already uses robotic planes, although humans make the important decisions, like when to fire their weapons.
And you thought The Terminator (movie) was stupid. Shame on you. ...lol...

So, yeah, I'll take a robot. A female version, please. Maybe blonde hair, or a bright red, with aqua eyes. She'll teach me French, and she'll hold my hand. She'll enjoy talking about history, and art, and she'll giggle sometimes. She'll be smarter than me in some ways, but she'll envy my oil paintings. Of course, she'll get upgrades, and one day her new emotion service pack will be downloaded, and she'll leave me.
You can't have everything.

Slow week...

2009-03-20T10:04:00.000-05:00

My attempt at a VERY minimalist Kenny Durkin.
And this one: Too risque? Let me know. I can always delete it. I just think it's cute and innocent. Of course, I'm a naive IDIOT!
I finally visited my friends at Ka-Blam, and this is what I found as I walked in the front door. Wow! These guys are intense. (Michael, Jenni, Barry, and Thomas.)
My good friend Patrick is a kind of artist/superhero/Don Juan. (Or so he says).

Kee

2009-03-10T20:58:00.003-05:00

I was thinking about what is essential to certain faces ... what LINES are essential... and then drew this.

Another couple...

2009-03-10T20:55:00.004-05:00

Just posting this photo (of a brother and a sister) on a whim. Lots of mistakes, and a bad SuperHero pose, but there's a certain solidity and speed to this rather new style of mine. I like to make kids look like kids in their body situations, thus a kid superhero, coming to a stop in mid-air. Each kid was a pre-schooler. ... Oh well... Whatever.

Some of my first caricatures since getting back to Orlando

2009-03-10T20:43:00.004-05:00

I like the fact that each caricature is completely different from the others, rather than that old "sameness" I once had. You know the kind: everyone looks "related" or even "twin-like." I'm proud to capture the individual in the individuals, or at least try to.

Watercolor/ Gouache

2009-03-05T20:46:00.002-05:00

After gaining pastel and oil skills, to a degree, I thought to try using my new color knowledge in watercolor portraits and a quick pin-up. Just practice, but I was surprised how easily I could bring this (formerly incomprehensible) medium to life.

The Problem with the boat...

2009-03-05T20:38:00.002-05:00

This was the problem with trying to be an artist on a small boat. Anything over 30" X 24" had to be taken outside. This was a little project I abandoned, trying to make the best of an incomplete Beyonce photo, and intending an acrylic life-size painting. But it was good practice. I completely freehanded the whole thing in graphite, using only my eye. Beyonce is rather short-legged and stocky (for such a beautiful girl) and I tried to be as realistic as possible. I think this was the day I screamed, "Give me a studio again!!"

Sketches Recently/ First Day of Caricatures

2009-03-05T20:23:00.002-05:00

Wasn't sure what was going to happen as I started to caricature again. But I found that I was enjoying it, truth be told. I'm even faster, and I'm using Chartpaks more. I think, certainly, I now recognize that caricatures are SIMPLE, taking only a few minutes, while real portraiture is enormously complicated and long. Doing one defines the other.
...And here's some sketching I've done recently. I'm working to improve my imagination and anatomical knowledge.

Back in Orlando

2009-03-04T13:40:00.002-05:00

Well, I don't think anyone follows my blog anymore (if ever!), but I'll keep posting. (Self-pity, I know... lol )
But, yes, I've moved back to Orlando, and am working for Caricature Connection at Disney again, and living with my friend Mike Duron.
After some brief adventures with my sailboat down around Tampa Bay (for a few months) I realized I want to emphasize my art life over my sailing life, so to speak. I mean, even when I left Orlando last summer, my emotions were mixed. My art was improving greatly, and I was broke, with continuing shoulder problems, and a sour disposition...
Hmm... And now, well... I guess I should say that everything's changed, in a sense.
During my rather lame time on the boat, I met a host of interesting people, and experienced real hunger a couple of times, and other things, but the overwhelming thing was that my sailboat was not really ready for traveling, and I had no savings... I sold my car and most of my possessions, but that netted an amazingly meager sum. My engine died, my VHF radio died, my jib sail got torn to shreds in a storm, my anchor was BENT badly in another storm, and on an on... And I wasn't anyplace where I could easily make money with art, and I don't have much experience sailing anyway, and I was running out of beer!
The whole thing bent something in me, too. I see the world differently, I believe. I could have easily lost my boat and my life on one particular bad October day offshore, and that bent something in me. I see the world differently...
It's strange too, all this, all this stuff we call life, jobs, art, desire. I taught myself to oil paint while on the boat. I learned to wake up to the aroma of linseed oil, with no food and no money, and to not worry too much. I had my home, my boat, I would think, and I had water, maybe a package or 2 of noodles somewhere maybe, and a little wine maybe, and a good book, although no electricity or companionship or...
Well... I don't know where I'm going with this post... My mind is a little fried. But I feel like I've returned HOME, somehow. And that's always the most powerful of experiences.

Idea for Obama oil caricature painting

2008-12-29T20:10:00.004-05:00

I've had this idea for a long while, with Obama as a rock star, all glitz and sex appeal, of sorts, with people yelling and flashing and waving/pumping their fists.

But I think I'll redo it with a more "cool" pose, and more of a snarling expression, rather than this dorky grin. Then make it into an oil work.

Fantasy Genre commissions

2008-12-29T19:51:00.004-05:00

Pen and Ink. ...I find that I enjoy figure drawing. I made these too cartoony, I believe, stretching proportions this way and that from my imagination, without a real plan. Better to stick with more realism. But I'm beginning to enjoy this fantasy genre thing. And I think I should begin using oils. We'll see...

Oil Commission of James

2008-12-12T19:33:00.002-05:00

James is a welder, and travels. He wanted something for his wife, back home in Virginia. 24" X 20" on masonite. I didn't get the lighting the way I wanted, so it was more of a challenge than I anticipated. Still improving... or trying to...

Oil Commission from client's photo

2008-12-04T19:00:00.003-05:00

This was painted on masonite. 24" X 20".

The reference flash photo was very harsh, but I did the best I could to tame it. Client likes it.

My Sailboat Wind Song at dock

2008-12-04T18:57:00.003-05:00

Photo taken today, December 4, 2008. I'm still trying to get out of here, but I have more oil commissions to complete. Not much money, but some at least. And I need as much experience as I can get in oil portraits.

New Oil Commission, 24"X20" on Wood Panel

2008-12-04T18:52:00.002-05:00

I made some adjustments after this, but I forgot to take another pic before delivery. Otherwise, I enjoyed the challenge of the tricky shadow across the chest, and the hands.

My first oil portrait, and I even got paid!

2008-11-25T17:06:00.005-05:00

Basically, I'm only doing oils now. I'm new to this medium, but I'm hooked. I'm in love with the fact that this is what the old masters used, basically. Yes, I'm a romantic...
This double portrait was painted on a wood panel, which was sealed/primed with four layers of gesso. 28" X 24".

Terrell and Judy, friends of mine.

Pastel Portraits from this summer

2008-11-25T16:56:00.005-05:00

The bearded fellow is my friend. The cat is my friend's pet. The little boy is my nephew's son. The others are just practice, part real and part fiction.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation...

2008-11-25T16:32:00.002-05:00

Just a quick note here: Yes, I'm alive. And, yes, I'm still living on my sailboat. I've had some problems, traveled a little bit, and I've been a little hungry from time to time, but I'm happy, I think.
Artistically, I've been working mainly on my portrait technique, and very recently have moved from pastels to oils. I've also relunctantly done a few caricature commissions, but I needed the money for, er, FOOD. But formal oil portraiture is my future, I believe, and I just finished my first oil commission.

I keep changing my mind...

2008-06-29T13:43:00.003-05:00

If you know me, or if you look back over this blog, you know that I'm CONSTANTLY changing my mind. Fickle is the word you're searching for. lol... But, you know, today I'm in the middle of cleaning and packing and cleaning and packing and cleaning... and moving onto the sailboat, Wind Song, tomorrow, my 24' Islander... And I'd pretty much given up on being able to travel on it and live on it, deciding instead to travel and live on a sailing dinghy for the summer, and maybe even sell Wind Song. (I can't live on Wind Song at its current location, technically.) But...you know...now that it's all HERE, and I've worked my last shift at Disney in Orlando, and am FACING it, IT, IT, the new life, a cruising sailor, living on boats, my DREAM, I find that I feel ENTHUSED about Wind Song. It's a real cruising sailboat, although on the small size. This model has crossed oceans, even circumnavigated. And I own one! It's paid for! It's my HOME. I should do everything I can to keep it, live on it, etc. Which means I need to get the bottom fixed, and move it from the dock in Apollo Beach SOON and begin my travels, cheaply. Very exciting. I'm ridiculous and crazy, I know, but people DO this sort of stuff. I'm not the first or last, all this sailing and living on boats, and the difficulty which goes with it: no AC, lots of salty water, the smell of fish, the danger of storms, bad anchorages, pesty Coasties... But somehow I LOVE most of that. I think it should beat a life of merely sitting in front of this damn computer all day. And that IS the life I've been living.

The romance of cruising the seas indeed enthralls me...We'll see what happens...

Go small, go cheap, go now

2008-06-27T12:20:00.008-05:00

{OK, one more post... lol...}

Go small, go cheap, go now... That's a phrase you might hear from time to time, or something like it. And I am being forced to do just that. Or maybe it's the Evil Tim lurking inside my head. That's it. He's arranged all this for me. ...lol

This is the dinghy sailboat I'm building, although with some minor changes. It's just about the smallest, simplest boat one can create, and still have capacity for lots of stuff and for coastal cruising. I'll have my backpacker stove, and food and water and wine, and a bucket as the all-important head. I'll have an AM/FM radio, and a VHF radio, and maybe put a couple of solar panels on it. Maybe get a laptop. And I'll have all the clothes I need, and fishing equipment, and art supplies/equipment. Yes, it all should fit. This boat will hold me plus about 400 lbs. of supplies. I'll place a tarp over the boom as a tent, and I have mosquito netting. I'll have my knife, a few good books, and the whole world to explore! Don't worry about me. Calm yourself by saying, "He's just crazy," and go back to watching TV. I'll be fine.

These funny-looking, squarish sailboats are said to sail really well, to all points of wind, and around 3 to 4 knots. I'll paint little murals of dolphins and mermaids (in acrylics) on the outside. Cool. ...Until my finances improve, this may indeed be my home, of sorts (with occasional stops at my big sailboat). Ah, adventure!

Last Post?

2008-06-26T19:19:00.004-05:00

Yes, this may be my last post, at least for a while. You see, all my plans are crumbling before me, in a sense. I mean, I know I have a reputation for being grumpy, and I don't want to sound that way, but, man, SO MANY things are going wrong, simply listing them makes me sound awful. (I even deleted some recent posts because I thought I was sounding too surly.) But, I should be clear and honest for those who care to read this.

I guess I'm frustrated. Very, very frustrated. And, I guess, honestly, it's all my fault. At least, I take responsibility for it.

Here's my list:

My shoulder is completely freezing-up again when painting at an upright easel. ...

I'm broke. (Largely due to shoulder problem of the last year or so.) ...

My sailboat needs work before it can be moved. MONEY needed. ...

I was told last week that I cannot live on the boat where it's currently located. Wow! I'm moving onto it in 4 days from now, one way or another! Maybe I can get away with staying on it for a few days, anyway. ...

The IRS just told me that I don't get the $600 stimulus check. This, after they sent me a letter a while back saying I WOULD get the check, and by June 13. This is a BIG BIG blow to me. ...

I'm seriously fighting depression. (I have a history of depression.) ...

My camera died. I was planning to use it as I went to clients' homes to take photographs for their pastel portraits. This had been my final plan. Do it just like the big boys, and take photos and make sketches and notes, right there in the home of the client, and then go back to my "studio" (the sailboat) and paint the portrait. I would charge $125 for a single, and $200 for a double, but with quality comparable to the big boys. And I simply don't have money for a new camera. But that's okay, since I don't have anyplace to live, or, thus, a "studio," now that I can't live on the sailboat. ...

Cannot print business cards or promotional material for new portrait business, since, again, I'm freakin' broke! (I know, I know, I'm terrible. I whine on and on.. ) ...

I thought I had much of next week to do my moving. A day or two ago I found out that I must be out Monday night. ...

Need wireless card for PC to use it on the boat. Of course, I can't live on the boat now, so I guess it's another moot point. ...

I haven't had a vacation in 4 years. That's right: FOUR YEARS, week in, week out, caricaturing tourists at Walt Disney World. I cannot express how freaked-out I get by the sound of loud children and shouting parents and crying artists. (That last one would be ME.) ... It's funny. You'd think I'd have some money. ...

My "back-up" plan had been to work at Busch Gardens. I figured I could take the bus up there from my boat. But the bus route is impossible from Apollo Beach to Busch Gardens. And my old old Jeep is having problems. Can't afford the outrageous gas prices anymore, anyway. Of course, my shoulder problem puts a dent in any future caricaturing, if I must be FAST to make much money. ...

Someone just commented the other day that it sounded like I was trying to piss-off my caricaturing friends in Orlando, and "burn bridges." Is that possibly true? Do I have an automatic "self-defense" mechanism which "breaks" things for me? Or something? I don't understand ANY of that, if it's true. I tend to speak my mind more lately, I've noticed, but it in no way is intended piss-off anyone, or hurt anyone. And sometimes my sense of humor is misinterpreted. I don't know. That's really discouraging. ...

And I guess I should add this note: I've been making myself SICK with my art materials in my little bedroom/studio, living/breathing/sleeping with linseed oil/turpentine/pastels/whatever almost 24/7. I've figured this out (I actually didn't realize it for a LONG time!) and especially with the pastels, which I will now ONLY use outdoors, and will use a my big industrial dust mask when crushing and mixing the pastel powder... Just another thing I've been struggling with. But, then again, the ART I've been doing the last couple of months is VERY encouraging. It's the one thing keeping me going. I believe now, with certainty, that I am an artist, after a lifetime of other stuff, other struggles. But art IS a struggle. Really, I had no idea. And I've been teaching myself from books and DVDs this whole time. Difficult to the extreme. That's why I hate it when people say, "Oh, it's just a natural gift." WTF?!! ...

And one more thing. (I know, I know, nobody's reading this to this point, but, just in case...) I'm spending all my time thinking about how everything is going wrong. I cannot seem to comprehend it. I like to "wrap my mind around" things, but this is all overwhelming. I don't know where to start to get things done. "Wrapping my mind around" things has always been important for me. I'm uncomfortable being rushed. I ENJOY the act of thinking. I ENJOY sitting and drawing someone and THINKING about their face, and this slows EVERYTHING I do. Most people think I'm an idiot. I actually have an I.Q. over 140. ...But this need to "wrap my mind around" things utterly... this caused untold misery for me when I was a kid in school, and has also caused misery when in a romantic relationship or friendship even, and even now. I mean, I saw I number of my acquaintances this morning, but are any of them my friends? ...Friendship... What is that definition? A SOLID, meat-and-potatoes definition... I mean, a girl gave me a hug this morning. What IS that? Actually, I got TWO hugs, because I got one from a female stranger, too, after she saw the picture I drew of her. It is all, again, unfathomable. ...
* * *
... But, you know, this is good, writing in this blog. I get to "organize" these items a bit. ...
And if you are still reading this, I should tell you that I'll make it. It's a rough patch. But I have some ideas.
Like...

I'm building a dinghy sailboat. There's a thing called "dinghy cruising." It's popular in the UK, I think. I'll "live" on my dinghy, temporarily. I had thought about a canoe, but a dinghy will hold more. (Or maybe I'll go with a canoe... I'm hilarious.) ...
So I'll build my dinghy, and take a couple of weeks "off" from all this frustration, sail around Tampa Bay and Clearwater and whatnot, and then come back and tackle my life.
And if I must, I'll sell my Jeep. And if I must, I'll sell my big sailboat. At that point it would just be me and the sailing dinghy and maybe a kind of low-brow freedom, from which I'll plan the rest of my life, and make money in little chunks, and start doing portraits somehow, or even caricatures, or give-away paintings along the sidewalk, for donations, whatever, and then get a bigger boat. Occasionally FREE boats appear in places. But not too big, without a big income.

Yet, with all things said and done, I need a couple of weeks to "wrap my mind around" all this crap, and get away from the tourists and models who won't sit still, and, well, everything.

So you may not hear from me for a while... But I'll be around. Heck, maybe I'll be happy. We'll see.

{POSTSCRIPT: If anyone wants to contact me, just call me! My phone may be off, but you can leave a message, and I'll get back to you in a day or two, if I can. My number is that same 321- number I've had for a year now, for those who know... I'm not sure about email. I can hit-up Internet Cafes, or the library access points, but that's hit and miss. And I'm trying to switch over to a new account: TimothyBrentGardner@gmail.com ... Use that one.}

And the (almost) finished portrait

2008-06-07T10:35:00.002-05:00

I'm sure I'll make some adjustments after I let it sit for a day.

My house-mate Wayne in pastel

2008-06-07T10:27:00.008-05:00

This was challenging. First, the skin tones, then the odd angles, then the thought that Wayne is my harshest critic. Oh, well... And I can see now I need to make my own pastels. I need 'em EXTRA soft for velour. ...
In the first photo you can see I used the traditional grid method for the layout, after a quick freehand study. I figure if using a grid is OK by the old masters, it's OK for me. lol... (Modern portrait artists often actually use a projector, and simply trace the contours.) ...
It's always interesting to notice how much a contour drawing DOESN'T have a likeness, often. ....In the second photo, you see the transferred image on the velour. From that point on, it's just pastels and my eye.
And another note about using the grid method. I am fully aware that, as a budding portrait artist, I'll be working from photos mostly, and, often, from photos taken by the client, who "just LOVE" their over-exposed flash photo of little Bobby and his sister Wendy, or whoever. And that's FINE, but I DO need to know how to take that photo (or ANY photo) and rather quickly turn it into a full-size portrait. This is, basically, what I'm practicing here.

My process... Draw, Trace, Pounce, Paint...

2008-06-04T21:50:00.004-05:00

So this is what I've invented. Since velour paper is so unforgiving of mistakes, an excellent initial sketch/cartoon is necessary, and doing it on a separate piece of paper is recommended. I did this sketch WAY too fast, and it was pretty lousy, but I did that for a reason (...see previous post).
So, the process is this. DRAW the face on normal drawing paper. Next, TRACE the contours onto tracing paper. Next, turn the tracing paper over, and use a POUNCE WHEEL to trace along the lines and make those little holes. (With the paper turned over, the "indentations" in the little pounced holes face UP on the other side.) Turn paper right-side-up. Grab a soft pastel, and trace again along the the lines, which are now full of little rough holes. The pastel will get "knocked-off" into the little holes, and fall onto the velour paper. And that's it! ...Now the hard part begins...