Escapade in Somesville, MDI

John Singer Sargent

Schooner Catherine, Somesville, Maine

1920 - 1925

I was excited to discover this John Singer Sargent watercolor.  I've spent a lot of time in museums and galleries, and pouring over books and the internet looking at 19th - 20th C. paintings of Maine and of course I still have so much more to see, but this is one that surprised me - and it's Somesville!

I guess it shouldn't be so surprising because Sargent did spend time on Mount Desert Island with his cousin, Mary Hale, at her summer home in Bar Harbor and also with an artist-friend, Dwight Blaney, on Ironbound.  I do get star-struck, though, even 100 years later, discovering that John Singer Sargent was right here, right where I live, on MDI.

Schooner Catherine, Somesville, c1950
MDI Historical Society

"The lumber schooner Catherine was reported by Virginia Somes Sanderson to have been built in 1833 and abandoned in Somes Cove in 1935. The Mystic Seaport Ship's Register documents a schooner Catherine built in 1848 in Belfast with a port of Ellsworth. It was traditional for sailing vessels to be repaired while grounded out in the harbors of Mount Desert Island. As of 2012, her timbers can still be seen at low tide. The back of the Somesville Library is visible on the left. Fernald's Store; later A.J. Whiting Store, then Port-in-a-Storm Bookstore, presently Frenchman's Bay Gallery; is second from left. Nathan Salisbury house is third from left. The Lewis Some house is fourth from left. The Somes House Inn is on the right, covered by trees across the Cove. On the back of the photo are the words, "The Sunken Schooner Catherine after people dismantled her."" (MDI Historical Society)


"As of 2012, her timbers can still be seen at low tide."  Hmmm.  OK, let's see if I can see them at low tide today . . .

. . . So, at about 3:30 pm today, which was low tide, I drove into Somesville on my way to play tennis in Ellsworth.  I stopped and parked at the Somesville Library and saw that it was, in fact, extremely low tide.  From the library lawn I looked out and felt sure that I spotted the wreck of the Catherine.  It was far away though, and I wanted to get closer, which meant that I had to trek along the shore of the inlet below the high water line over rocks, seaweed, marsh grass, and mud and sand.  It looked doable.

Timbers of the Catherine from the Somesville Library (photo taken with telephoto)

I started out around the shoreline, hesitating because the footing was precarious.  I was wearing my tennis clothes, including my shoes, which was a mistake - made very clear when I stepped into mud - damn, too late, but I kept going, slowly, not letting go of my camera.  "yikes" - "whoa" - "shit"

Made it - how cool the wreck looked.

Standing with the Catherine looking back toward the Somesville Library (upper left)

  

Looking in the direction of Somes Pond

Catherine's frames and ribs

Looking east

It was time to leave and trek back to my car.  I was concerned about the time and the traffic I would inevitably face leaving the island at 4:00 pm.  (August on MDI)  I tripped and slipped most of the way along the shore, but I felt I had it figured out.  I wondered if anyone was watching me or if anyone would tell me I shouldn't be there.  No one seemed to care.

Good thing.  Because just as I was about to finally step to secure ground, my foot slid into a hollow hidden underneath the marsh grass and I lost my balance, cracking my shin on a rock and falling into a complete backward somersault landing on my back.  I just laid there for awhile staring into the sky, not even believing what had just happened.  As I stood up eventually, camera still in my grip, I looked at my shin and then my muddy shoes and clothes, and then, cried for a minute.  I felt alone, kind of like a little kid needing a hug - and I thought, "Damn . . . these pictures better be good."

It's really much, much worse than it looks, honest.

So I drove to Ellsworth, put my adventure aside, played tennis for two hours, and now I'm home.  The pictures came out OK, but I can't move without aching - the result of two hours of tennis plus gymnastics on the Somesville shore. 

My poor K-Swiss

I have to remember that my escapade was inspired by John Singer Sargent's watercolor of the Catherine.  His painting of light and the white of the sails, tenders, water, and atmosphere, and of the physicality and elegance of the Catherine is so beautiful to me.  It's remarkable, too, that the Catherine remains in the same location that John Singer Sargent stood to observe her and find the beauty of that moment almost 100 years ago.  I'm so excited to have been able to share that, in a way, and I have the bruises to prove it. 

The Blues

I was driving back to the island from Bangor thinking I wanted to hear some music, but remembered my only option was radio - old fashioned car-radio, local stations - bad local stations, ugh.  I switched it on anyway, pressed scan and kind of forgot about it for awhile, not hearing anything appealing.  

Forgot about it until . . . huh?  Allman Brothers?  Whoa - oh, yes.  That's what I'm talkin' about -

- Statesboro Blues.  (click)

I sang along loudly and animatedly, despite driving.  Great song.  Forever a great song.  I think so anyway. 

Gregg Allman

When the song ended I just turned the radio off before some typical local radio inane-ness ruined the experience.  I thought how perfect and timely Statesboro Blues was for me because I, in fact, have the blues.  Perhaps the song gave me an excuse to justify my own funk, and it certainly helped me embrace it, and I won't deny it:  it's the End-of-Summer August Blues.  

Pablo Picasso

Melancholy Woman

1902

I love summer and miss it when it is gone. 

And winter in Maine won't be denied.  It is powerful - endless days, weeks, and months of solitary, cold winter darkenss (waa-waa-waa) . . . time for Whipping Post.   (click)

The Art Spirit

Robert Henri
Monhegan Island, Maine
1911

“When the artist is alive in any person, whatever his kind of work may be, he becomes an inventive, searching, daring, self-expressive creature. He becomes interesting to other people. He disturbs, upsets, enlightens, and opens ways for better understanding. Where those who are not artists are trying to close the book, he opens it and shows there are still more pages possible.” 
― Robert Henri, The Art Spirit

Robert Henri
Cumulus Clouds, East River
1901-1902

Robert Henri (American, 1865 - 1929) was an artist, writer, influential teacher and also the organizer and leader of "The Eight", a group of artists who believed that "art should be relevant to contemporary life rather than conform to standards of popular taste".  They became known as "The Ashcan School".  Henri advocated independence for artists and freedom of expression and was committed to integrating art and life, promoting the development of a new realism in 20th Century American Art.  His progressive art and ideas were in fact the link between the academic world of the 19th Century and the landmark 1913 Armory Show in New York City.

Ashcan School artists & friends at John French Sloan's Philadelphia Studio, 1898

"The Ashcan School" first exhibited in New York City in 1908, an exhibit organized by Henri as a reaction against the conservative, prescriptive exhibit policies of the National Academy of Design.  This show was shocking for its time and included artists like John Sloan, William Glackens, Everett Shinn, George Luks, Arthur B. Davies, Ernest Lawson, and Maurice Prendergast, all artists, like Henri, who rebelled against the refined and polished style of American Impressionism and academic realism.  Their works were darker, in subject and in tone and, at the urging of Henri, were painted in "the robust, unfettered, ungenteel spirit of his favorite poet, Walt Whitman, and to be unafraid of offending contemporary taste".  

. . . For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the beach gliding, /Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows, /Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sightsafter their sorts, /The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, /I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, / Listen'd long and long. . .. . . Where to answering, the sea, /Delaying not, hurrying not, /Whisper'd me through the night, and very plainly before day-break, /Lisp'd to me the low and delicious word DEATH. . .

Walt Whitman, Sea Shore Memories

. . . besides Whitman, Henri's influence at this time in his career were the artists Velasquez, Hals, and Manet, plus his rebellious nature and desire for truth. According to Robert Hughes, he "wanted art to be akin to journalism...he wanted paint to be as real as mud, as the clods of horse-shit and snow, that froze on Broadway in the winter." 

Robert Henri
Snow in New York
1902

Robert Henri first visited Monhegan in 1903, awed by the fundamental, physical character of the island - the sea, the headlands, and the forest.  He and George Bellows, Edward Hopper, and Rockwell Kent helped establish the artist colony there and they produced some of the most iconic images of "Maine".  The experience of the unique natural phenomenon that the island offered must have inspired and complimented their objective for truth and expression in their own work.

Robert Henri
Storm Tide
1903

Robert Henri
Sea and Land (Monhegan Island)
c1909

I admire Henri because he was a teacher who encouraged "creative independence and philosophical anarchism" and he was an artist who never ceased to question his own style and self-expression.  For me, he "opens (the book) and shows there are still more pages possible”, even 100 years later.  I want to be like him, in his work and influence - even in a small way. 

Robert Henri
Bucko O'Malley (Charles)-(Boy with Cap)
1924

"All I can hope to do for you is to incite you to do something for yourself-- to create something. What it is, I can’t guess. I’m eager to see."

- Robert Henri, artist and teacher

. . . must include this final painting:

Robert Henri
Pequot Lighthouse, Connecticut Coast
1902

where I grew up.

daylilies

The daylilies have almost gone by.  There are a few more days of blossoms, I think.  Each blossom gets one day, then, sadly, gone until next summer.  Sort of amazing - I try to remember to observe closely because I might miss something magical.

I fell in love with daylilies while I was growing up in rural Connecticut.  They just grew wild along the road and old stone walls throughout the countryside.  My mom grew them - by the pond, by the barn, by the road, by the house, and by the compost pile.  When I moved away from home and could have my own garden, she gave me my first plants - divisions of decades old daylilies and iris. I still have their descendants in my Maine garden today, divided and multiplied annually.

I think I like daylilies best when they are random, unexpected, and un-deadheaded, and not necessarily in a formal garden.  I imagine that they've been in that spot for a hundred years, maybe outliving any original intent or design   They are beautifully common and happily surprising.  They are whimsical.  

Like by a woodpile and paving stones.

Or a telephone pole.

Or in front of a house.

Or by the harbor. 

Or holding a spider's web.

Or in Monet's Garden . . .

Claude Monet
Hemerocallis
1914-1917

"I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers."  - Claude Monet

Claude Monet
Daylilies on the Riverbank
1914-1917

"It's on the strength of observation and reflection that one finds a way.  So we must dig and delve unceasingly."  Claude Monet

Exposed

Super low tides lately.   Giving the world a different look and getting me thinking about, oh, I don't know . . . life - life's ebb and flow.  

An ebbing tide exposes whimsical treasures and enduring granite formations.

Looking Out at Norwood Cove

The Causeway

I think I'm in the low tide of my life.  Low tide inspires a broader consideration of life and structure and offers glimpses full of surprise and awe.  I think this is where I am.  I contemplate more, I observe more, and I feel confirmed and astounded at the same time.  

I can see now what's been there all along and I can identify and acknowledge those pieces of my life:  the joy, adventure, celebration, pride, and wonder.  But also the sadness, the challenges, and regret.  Real life.

Robert Rauschenberg

Untitled

1958

This is an opportunity for me to continue to build from the foundation that my family and I have created. The last 20 years of my life, with marriage, children, and jobs, have been overflowing and overloaded, with troughs and crests, turbulent and joyous.  High tide.  We've improvised and jury-rigged some over the years, just because that's how it works sometimes, but we're left with soundness and resilience. 

Paul Gauguin
At the Black Rocks
1889

With the high tide receded, I'm down to just me now.  I've grown - evolved, but I'm only starting to figure out how.  I'm the same, but I'm different.  I'm careful, but I'm assertive.  I'm adventurous, but I'm informed.  I'm idealistic, but I'm pragmatic.  I'm emotional, but I'm reasonable.  (note to family: I'm nagging, I'm annoying, I'm selfish. I am funny.)  I'm all the things I used to be and more.

I am exposed.

Childe Hassam
Incoming Tide
1919

   

I'm exhaling, and I'm happy.  I'm making choices, I'm taking chances, I'm making mistakes, and I'm doing things that I've always wanted to do.  Because I have time and support and encouragement.    

And I'm grateful that I have what has been with me all along - beautiful whimsical treasures, Mary and Addie, and enduring granite formation, John.  

And I have art.

Paul Cezanne
Rocks at L'Estaque
1882

White Sails on Somes Sound

On summer mornings
I rise
to quiet softness,
golden luminescence,
blue atmosphere translucent,
mirrored layers of sky
mountain
and sea.

Fitz Hugh Lane

Entrance to Somes Sound From Southwest Harbor

1852

Then
the afternoon southwest breeze
shatters the mirror
with headers and lifts
and I ride the wind
through light and lucidity,
white sails 
on blue-green waves
of Somes Sound.

Maurice de Vlaminck

Sailboats at Chatou

1905

Cut-throat Fun

Laurence Stephen Lowry

The Tennis Player

1927

I played singles tennis this morning with a friend.  We hadn't played together in a few years, not because we weren't wanting to, but because it became a conversation instead of committing to a day and time, you know, "Yes, I'd love to play."  "Maybe sometime next week." "Definitely, soon."  "Can't wait."  And then it's the end of the summer.  Oops.  Well, we did it today, we committed, and it was so fun!  So fun that we set a date for next week, same time, same day.  Can't wait.

Max Liebermann

Tennis Game by the Sea

1901

We both agreed that it's easy to forget that there's something special about playing singles - and it's so easy to get sucked into playing doubles, I think because more people play doubles and there are just more doubles games going on.  But singles, for me, leaves me feeling more satisfied on many levels:  I love the personal, physical, and mental challenge; I like hitting lots of balls; the competition; it involves strategy and tactics, forethought and planning, but at the same time just reaction; and the competition.  Did I say that already?

Andre Lhote

Tennis Players 

1912

All the while moving your feet, keeping your eye on the ball, following through, breathing, anticipating . . . laughing, swearing . . .

This is me.

(Associated Press)

This is my opponent.

(Getty Images)

Today was great.  It wasn't so much about winning or losing, yeah, right.  So, OK, she beat me in the first set, but I was leading by two games in the second set when we had to stop (other people were signed up for the court).  To be continued next week.

Me.

(Associated Press)

Her.

(Getty Images)

Another friend, who was watching us, stopped us on our way off the court.  He asked, smiling wryly, "So, was that fun?"  "Ye-ah, it was fun."  "Uh huh, cut-throat fun," he said.

"Yup, cut-throat fun."