The sea goes from deep blue, to silver to gold, depending on the sun. The sky has stayed clear. It feels altogether magical and, punctuated by volcanic islands and swooping seabirds, our watches are no hardship. Armed with sunglasses and cups of tea, it is possible to sit on deck for hours, basking in the sunlight. The only difficulty is forcing ourselves to sleep – none of us want to retreat back down to our bunks when the weather is so glorious.
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Here, where the wilderness shouts so very loudly, words seem quieter somehow. Less important. I can imagine my own melting away, driven by the sound of the wind and rock. In Helen’s maps though, her collections of words and drawings are the anchors that connect place to place, person to person, creature to creature. Sea shanties from an Icelandic village are tied, across an ocean, to perhaps a Faroese folk chant or a viking childrens’ tale.
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For us, and our small team of emerging artists, it won’t be plastic but rather whales and dolphins that will be our watchwords. But, one cannot help bleeding into the other. As more whales wash up on beaches with stomachs full of plastic, how not to feel the weight of Sea Dragon’s most recent research as we gaze across the bright blue sea?
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