People in Environment Workshop!


If you will be in Scranton, Pennsylvania this Saturday, March 7th, please come by to the Artists for Art gallery for a day of art! This drawing, above, is one of about 25 pieces of reportage illustration that I will be exhibiting at the gallery, along with art by the talented illustrators Chris Spollen and Kevin McClosky. Chris Spollen will be conducting a hands-on workshop from 10 am to 1 pm, and I will be leading a reportage workshop: People in Environment, from 3:15 to 6:15. There will be an artist talk by Tim Butler from 2 -3 pm.

The opening of the Artists for Art exhibition is tomorrow evening, March 6, from 6 – 9pm.

So if you’re nearby, come on out! And thanks to Ted Michalowski for his help making this exhibition happen.

Show in Scranton

1If you will be in Scranton, Pennsylvania, on Friday evening, March 6th, please join us at the Artists for Art gallery for the opening of this exhibit, featuring my reportage work, and the work of two other talented illustrators, Kevin McCloskey and Chris Spollen. The reception is from 6pm to 9 pm, would love to see you there! And on Saturday, March 7th, stop by for the AFA Afternoon of Art, including workshops by Chris Spollen and myself. The Artists for Art gallery is located at 514 Lackawanna Avenue, in Scranton PA. Click HERE for more info!

brooklyn_bridgeBrooklyn Bridge, NYC, drawing made for Brooks Brothers, New York, one of the illustrations that will be in the exhibit.



Drawing at the Society

This past Thursday evening, Greg Betza, my friend and colleague from Studio 1482, invited me to go with him to the weekly Sketch Night at the Society of Illustrators in NY. The theme was the Hunger Games, and while I am not necessarily up on the latest movie, I have step-daughters, so I have definitely seen the first movie, and have a little info of who Katniss is. (I liked the first movie, by the way, and the storyline too.)

Anyway, I was kind of cocooning in my studio that day and thought, well maybe this is a good excuse to get out a little bit! Plus, the event was organized by Ted Michalowski, the courtroom illustrator who has been a good friend to the studio.

Anyway, it was a fun evening – thought I’d share a few drawings…

for Patty

For Patty_2

Please consider a donation to Gilda’s Club Westchester, or to Support Connection, two organizations that helped my sister so much.

Thank you, Veronica

Sketchbook Skool

Happy to announce that I will be teaching a klass (yes, with a k!) in the 3rd semester of Sketchbook Skool, the new online school from Danny Gregory and Koosje Koene. Had a great time drawing in the Amsterdam rain with Koosje, and shooting my videos in Brooklyn with Danny!













Check it out here:







The 38th Voyage Part Three: Sailing Through The Mist

This past July, I had the honor of being selected as one of 79 “38th Voyagers” to sail on the restored whaling ship Charles W. Morgan, as she made her way along the New England coast. The program, through Mystic Seaport in Connecticut, and partly funded by a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities, sought to bring artists, scientists, writers, and other academics on board, to see what their experiences would create.

I was placed in the Provincetown to Boston leg, and what follows is my own experience on the ship:

Part Three

“It is not down in any map; true places never are.”

Herman Melville, Moby Dick


As the Charles W. Morgan moved silently through Cape Cod Bay, a thick cloud of fog and mist settled over the ship.

In that magical atmosphere, she seemed transformed into another ship, from another place and time. Which, of course, she was.

Putting our trust in the captain and crew, we on board could not see where we were going, or have any idea how we would get to our destination. I drew slowly, methodically, as the ship moved forward into an unknown future. How fitting this foggy environment was for the next stage of our 38th voyage.


The Morgan had made peace with the whales in Stellwagen Banks, or rather, the whales had made peace with the Morgan. She had accomplished an important mission of healing through that contact, and by her visit to the whale sanctuary she had also brought attention to the plight of the whales and the importance of preserving our oceans for generations to come.

Our next steps are a bit less clear. The Morgan has brought attention to the issues of our oceans, but how will humanity make the changes that will create a new beginning? We move forward now with knowledge of the past, but we must change our course to ensure preservation of our future.


The helmsman had no way of knowing in which direction he should steer the ship, and the Chief Mate looked out into the distance to follow the tug Sirius, our guiding star. He called back the instructions to the helm.

We, too, can look to those forward thinking individuals who are guiding us, studying the oceans, and showing us the way to the future. One of them, Jean-Michele Cousteau, was on board the Morgan with us, traveling to Boston to speak about the future of our oceans. I only hope that we heed the call of Jean-Michele and other scientists, visionaries who can see through the fog of misinformation that often surrounds us.

chief-mate-sam-looks-over-the-prow-in-fogthe chief mate looking into the fog

As I thought of these things, a lone voice rang out over the deck. I looked up from my drawing, and saw one of the crew members, who had begun singing an old sea shanty. (Shanty comes from the old French “chantez”, or to sing: They were sung by sailors to pass the time and lighten the workload.)

shanty_yellow_ship_fogHe sang a traditional song of inspiration for the crew: “keep on whaling boys!”  He sang soulfully, of noble work, and of the endurance of the human spirit. As he sang, a crew member climbed the rigging to adjust the sails. The dedication of the crew became the perfect metaphor for the next steps of our journey. We can appeal to the noble impulses within and work together, as one of many species living on this planet, to make a difference. As Jean-Michele Cousteau has said so eloquently, we are the only species that has this ability to transform our earth and seas. What an honorable goal.

voyage29_shanty2_legend_of_the_whaleThe sailor continued to sing to a spellbound audience. One old French shanty, The Legend of the Whale, caught my imagination. Sung from the whale’s point of view, the lyrics depict a bemused kind of detachment that the whales might have, watching the whalers in their small boats coming out to attack.

whale-shanty-panoramicthe legend of the whale

One line rang out, at the song’s end: “If they treat each other the way they treat us, we won’t have to worry about them for much longer.”

Whoever wrote those lyrics must have had the same intuition shared by many – that the whales have more knowledge and wisdom than we can understand. Millions of years ago, the first animals left the water to live on dry land, including the ancestors of modern whales. Why did they then return to the oceans? What do they understand that we don’t? Maybe some day we will know. Until then, perhaps we can start treating the whales, and each other, with a lot more compassion.

captain-looks-out-at-fogCaptain Kip gazes out through his binoculars

Captain Kip looked out into the fog, and the call went out – we were approaching Boston! The skyline of the city was a faint shape in the distance.


Many smaller boats began gathering around us in celebration, and the voyagers and crew ran to the sides of the Morgan to get a better view of the land beyond.


We passed the lighthouse guarding the harbor,  and the excitement on deck grew. Although we had been towed through the fog by Sirius, there was talk on board that we would be sailing in Boston harbor, untethered, by the power of the wind alone. Freedom!! No one wanted to see the Morgan put under too much strain, but we all hoped she would sail unfettered before we met land in Boston.

While the captain and crew discussed the possibility of a free sail, we 38th voyagers had an opportunity to climb aloft (quite exhilarating and a bit scary, by the way.) The trick is to climb slowly, and never have fewer than three points of contact with the tarry ropes.

whale-dream-2-adjustedlooking down at the Morgan’s deck

As I climbed higher and higher into the sky, one careful step at a time, the reality of the ship below fell away. I no longer heard the crew and passengers below: only the sounds of the wind and the waves filled my ears. From my vantage point aloft, I could see the waters of the bay surrounding us on all sides. I imagined I could look down and see the whales of the past, swimming together, circling our ship, guiding us with their wisdom toward our future relationship with the oceans.

I then imagined that we were sailing on another voyage, a voyage not on any map, but a voyage of the human spirit. A voyage toward a world where our oceans are clean and teem with life, our forests are green and rich, and our rivers run crystal clear. It’s a voyage through the fog and mist, a voyage through the unknown. We can not see the final destination, or even fully understand how we will get there, but it is a destination worth aiming for. We have no choice.

Next part: sailing into Boston

38th Voyage Part Two: Morning Muster

This past July, I had the honor of being selected as one of 79 “38th Voyagers” to sail on the restored whaling ship Charles W. Morgan, as she made her way along the New England coast. The program, through Mystic Seaport in Connecticut, and partly funded by a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities, sought to bring artists, scientists, writers, and other academics on board, to see what their experiences would create.

I was placed in the Provincetown to Boston leg, and what follows is my own experience on the ship:

Part Two

“Real strength never impairs beauty or harmony, but it often bestows it, and in everything imposingly beautiful, strength has much to do with magic.”  Herman Melville


As we slept on the Charles W. Morgan, we were protected by a beacon of light. Hanging above the bowsprit of the ship, this nightlight was a sentinel, letting all other ships know that we were moored for the night.

The morning of our sail, I awoke suddenly in my bunk, wondering why I was rocking. Then I remembered, I had spent the night sleeping on a ship, safeguarded by a night light. I lay there for a moment, wondering if it was time to get up, when one of the crew came into the fo’c’sle and said gently, “OK voyagers, this is your 5:15 wake up call. It’s a little wet out there, so put on some layers.”

I maneuvered myself out of the tight quarters, scurried over to the littlest sink I’ve ever seen to brush my teeth, decided makeup was superfluous, and put a sweatshirt on under my official Voyager t-shirt. I hope I brushed my hair, but can’t be sure I did in my haste to get on deck.

I climbed the ladder up to the deck, thinking of coffee and maybe a roll or pastry, like this was some pleasure cruise. Instead, I was greeted by this sight:

voyage14_sunrise_pulling anchorANCHORS UP!!

The crew was already hard at work, preparing to haul the anchor and get ready to move. They must have been awake at 4 am – they let the landlubbers sleep in, apparently. Crew members were running all over the deck, and Sam, the chief mate, was shouting out orders that were shouted back in repetition by the deckhands. I quickly began drawing the action, coffee can wait!

morgan37and38_anchorsup!_blogcrew co-operation

The pinkish morning light was struggling to take over the white sky as the soft rain barely fell on us. The atmosphere was beautiful and the weather felt very appropriate for our endeavor. The captain began organizing the other 38th voyagers to help bring up anchor. I stayed put on deck near the try pots and drew the scene. The 38th Voyagers were quite excited to be involved in the experience, and several of them looked with unconcealed elation at the stain of tar left on their hands by the rope.

morgan36_towing the anchorAs  a big storm was headed in our direction, the decision had been made for the tug Sirius to tow us most of the way to Boston, assisted by the sails. The crew slid the large cotton sails along the lines of rigging on rings, somewhat like a shower curtain, (although maybe the rain affected my perception of that.) The morning light hitting the sail creating a luminous glow, the rain fell gently, and the air was calm. We were going out to sea.


I went to the stern of the ship, where Dana was helping un-moor the tug Sirius, so the little boat could maneuver ahead and begin the towing. Sunrise was in full effect and Provincetown slept peacefully while the work to unfurl the sails continued at a frantic pace.

voyage1_dana_disconnects the tug siriusvoyage15_together_thinner

It may be cliché, but I can’t help but remark that a sailing vessel is the perfect metaphor for co-operation. I ran all over the deck that morning, trying to draw and keep up with the sailors as they heaved, pulled, pushed, climbed, unfurled, straightened out, bent, and maneuvered those cotton sails to their will.

The earliest illustration of a ship under sail can be found on a disc from Kuwait, dating from the late 5th millenium BC.  The utter hubris of the thought that we could control the winds and the sea with a few wooden sticks and a piece of cloth is mind boggling, especially when I think of what technologies were not available in those early times. To my untrained sailing eyes, the whole set up feels precarious – “we’re going where, to do what, in what?” – would be my first thought upon joining a whaling voyage. It’s all about rope and sticks, and it amazes me every time I think about how the world changed due to the invention of sailing vessels, and the belief of sailors who trusted the ships with their lives.

voyage18_starboard sheet! _2

The sails unfurled and billowed over the deck as the crew pulled the rigging this way and that. Like trying to control the breath of the universe and bending it to your will. I guess that’s why they call it “bending the sails.” If we could all pull together as a species to heal our environment in the way that this crew pulls together to get the sails up on the Morgan, I think there might just be a chance of leaving something worth having to the next generation.

As I was drawing, Robert and I spoke a little about the poetry of the winds filling the sails, and he mentioned Buddhist breath meditation: the philosophy that simple mindfulness of breath in meditation can lead to enlightenment, and knowing. Watching the white sails unfurling against a whiter sky, I felt certain that this must be true.

Laying out Sails morningBut for the crew, hard work was the meditation of the moment. They moved and breathed as one unit, and got the sails into the correct placement to aid little Sirius in our journey to Boston. The complications of the physics of sailing are myriad, and I am not an engineer, so for those readers interested to read more you can click this LINK as a beginning.

Once the sails were set and the Sirius attached, we began to move. My growling stomach and approaching headache prompted me to go to the stern of the ship, where there was a decidedly modern coffee machine. (Pragmatism wins again!)

voyage4_jean-michele_and_annAs I reached for the coffee, a teasing voice called out, “it’s all gone!”

 It was Jean-Michele Cousteau, the famous scientist, film maker, and son of Jacques Cousteau. I was happy that Jean-Michele was on our voyage, I admired his work and had met him two days earlier in Provincetown, where he had been complimentary toward the mural that Dalvero Academy was doing on the wharf. He had offered some good advice too – keep it simple in your explanation, let the art do the talking. Sweet.

I respect his work, and loved his playfulness on deck. It seems that the most professional people know how to play the best. Definitely a flirt, he moved about teasing the female deck hands, who enjoyed flirting back. In this picture (up and to the left) he is having a more serious conversation with Anne Grimes Rand, president of the USS Constitution museum. And by the way, there was coffee to be had, thankfully. ;)


I sipped my coffee and noticed how even on a ship, everyone congregates around the water cooler, so to speak. Susan Funk told me that this is where we get the term, “scuttlebutt” since the sailors would gather around the barrel with fresh water, a butt (cask) that had been scuttled, meaning a hole put in it for water to get out. So much of our culture stems from the sea, I had no idea.

As everyone talked, I climbed below to have some breakfast: cereal, rolls, fruit. John and I perched on some barrels and talked a bit about the experience so far while we ate. Then we heard a call for everyone to gather on deck.

Captain Kip Portrait colorCaptain Kip Files introduced himself and the rest of the Morgan crew and Mystic staff. He spoke about how thrilled he felt to be the captain of this vessel on this voyage, and the other Mystic people echoed his sentiment. Elysa Engelman, the Mystic museum director, told us that this was the voyage she chose, and how excited she was to be on the Morgan as we arrived in Boston harbor. Museum vice-president Susan Funk nodded in agreement, smiling.Elysa_Engelman_Susan_Funk_2


We were all asked to introduce ourselves – 38th Voyagers, guests, and patrons – and say a few words about how we arrived on the Morgan, and why we wanted to be there. Some of us had more to say than others, but we all told a similar tale of how we wanted to be a part of this historic event, and how Mystic Seaport was unprecedented to create this experience for us. The former president of Mystic, Douglas Teeson, spoke of the beginnings of the restoration, and how he never imagined she would sail. He graciously thanked current president Stephen White.

And we spoke of how important it was to take the largest and only surviving symbol of our whaling past and environmental degradation, and turn it into the largest new symbol of our changing perceptions of the natural world, and our commitment to heal it. Ryan, the stowaway, added that he felt honored to be the first person to see whales from aloft in 100 years, especially since there was no hunt to follow!


We all had many things to say.

But Jean-Michele said the most: “I am Jean-Michele. I am a diver.” We laughed, but it was quite profound. Simple humility in the face of nature, a good lesson for all of us.


And then Thomas Sullivan made a formal presentation to the Captain of the wood  from the Charlestown Navy Yard, that his family had salvaged and donated to Mystic Seaport for the restoration of the Morgan. (Read more HERE.) Thomas has been taking this wood around the world, including sailing around the Cape of Good Hope, and the voyage on board the Morgan was an important part of the trip. The captain gamely thanked Thomas, and photos were taken.

The rain had let up, and people were moving about the deck, settling in as we moved smoothly through the waters of Cape Cod Bay. Robert set up his navigation equipment, there was a videographer interviewing the Second Mate, and people sat in groups, discussing matters great and small.


Robert with his equipment, John and Carol converse.

Only the crew did not relax, and Sam, the First Mate, was ever vigilant at the prow.


Paul O-Pecko watches as Sean is interviewed, Sam looks out.

I asked Sam about the 38th voyage, and what he thought he would take away from it. “About 2/3rd of the hull,” he answered, laughing, “we’re gonna cut her off right at the foreshrouds.”

“No, seriously,” he continued, “I’ve taken away a really great experience to sail the real deal, and to have been able to get to know the ship, just a little bit, ’cause she’s such a sweetheart of a sailor. And you can tell why there were people for 90 years who thought it was worth it to take this ship to sea.” I asked him what he meant by that: “She does everything you want her to do, and there’s no mystery to it.  You throw her up into the wind, and she does that the way you want her to, she heaves to, she stops the way you want her to…she’s very docile. And that’s something actually something that often, in replica square riggers,  they don’t do things that you want them to do, or they will end up doing things that surprise you…the surprising thing about this one is it does everything that we think it should do.  From all the accounts that you read of how they used to sail these ships…you sail this one and this one actually does do it. You say, oh, that’s ’cause it’s the genuine article.”

He looked out over the water and continued: “You can’t build this ship again, the way this ship is… you can’t actually replicate this…there’s stability requirements for modern construction, things that alter the shape, and the intent, and the spirit of what these ships were, just enough that you have these sort of unintended consequences that you almost can’t really measure in the sailing qualities, but you just know that they’re not there.”

sails with fog and purple

“It’s like the difference that makes the difference,” I said, quoting Gregory Bateson.

“Right,” he replied, “…and this whole ship, it’s a painting, it’s this piece of artwork with all these details, that if you take one shade of purple out of the painting it looks a little different, but you’re not really sure why.”

Beautifully said.

I wanted to ask him more, but he very quickly had to get back to work. More yelling, pulling, heaving, calling out, and such, as the deck became alive again with the movements of the sailors. The weather had shifted, and the sails had to shift with it.

“Round the Corner Sally!”

The call out and repeat of a traditional work shanty rang out across the deck. The shanty singing kept spirits high and muscles strong as the sailors pulled the line to get the sails where they needed to be. You could just see the adrenaline pumping; it was thrilling to watch.


And the crew was in the rigging, and the sails shifted again…

voyage 16_working the rigging…and the fog rolled in.

fogCaptain Kip Files and Chief Mate Sam Sikkema look out into the fog.

The 38th Voyage, part one

This past July, I had the honor of being selected as one of  79 “38th Voyagers” to sail on the restored whaling ship Charles W. Morgan, as she made her way along the New England coast. The program, through Mystic Seaport in Connecticut, and partly funded by a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities, sought to bring artists, scientists, writers, and other academics on board, to see what their experiences would create.

I was placed in the Provincetown to Boston leg, and what follows is my own experience on the ship:

Part One

“I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing.” – Herman Melville, Moby Dick

Sailing on a 19th Century whaling ship is not something I ever expected to do in my life. The whaling industry is not a particularly appealing part of American history: the hunt seems so harsh to 21st Century eyes. And yet, in doing research and reportage of the restoration of the Charles W. Morgan at Mystic Seaport, I came to respect the ship and the hard work of her sailors, and to understand the importance of the whaling industry to the growth of our country. We can’t ignore our whaling past, or judge it through the eyes of today, but rather we can shift our rudder with the knowledge we have now, to a new relationship with the whales and our environment. That is the message of the Morgan’s sail, and a timely one too. So it was with great enthusiasm that I got myself ready for to be a part of this very symbolic voyage.

provincetown-whales-and-the-morganThe weekend before our sail, the Morgan had made a few day trips out to the Stellwagen Bank Marine Sanctuary, off the coast of Provincetown. There she made contact with humpback whales, closing the gap between the past and the present in one glistening whale spout. “Thar she blows!” elicited cries of joy and clicks of cameras instead of thrusts of harpoons. The whales, to my mind, were quite forgiving, and swam up to the ship and little whale boats without trepidation. It was a beautiful few days, the sun was shining, and the Morgan was in full sail. I looked forward to more of the same. On a whale watch before my departure date, my husband and I saw many whales – spy hopping, fluking, breaching. On the horizon, a huge humpback rose to breach and fell, hitting the ocean like a small building. It seemed to my active imagination that the whales were celebrating the new spirit of co-operation between us and them that existed after the encounters of the weekend.

morgan-in-the-rainOn Sunday evening before our scheduled Tuesday trip, we received a text message – be prepared to wait. The skies were turning ominous, and the forecast for Tuesday was severe thunderstorms. I wanted to experience a bit of the life of a sailor, but I wasn’t sure how far that desire went. Monday morning at 6 am, the decision was made and another text sent out. We would sail on Tuesday, if only to beat the storm that was quickly heading toward Boston. Be prepared for rough seas and rain, it said. OK, I thought, I can do this. I packed my gear, a little dramamine, and looked forward to the adventure to come.


Monday evening I met my 38th Voyager co-hort, the group of people that selected to travel on my leg of the journey, to share a light dinner. There was Sara, a history teacher preparing a lesson for her high school students. “If whaling still existed today, these kids would go!” she said. I think Sara must be the most awesome high school teacher ever, taking a trip on the Morgan to bring the experience back to her students. Other voyagers were there: Daniel, a photographer and poet; Jason, a scholar of Native American whalers; Charlie, a scholar of African American whalers; John, an author and Melville scholar; and Thomas, who was traveling with a piece of wood from the Charlestown Navy Yard – wood that had been used for the restoration of the Morgan. Julia, who would be doing podcasts from the ship, and Robert, whose interests lay in navigation, were also in our group. We discussed our projects, and the disputed merits of eating hard-tack, which Paul O’Pecko, our co-ordinator, had brought for us. Soon he told us it was time to head to the ship.

approaching-the-ship-with-charlieWe got into a little speedster boat – “the bone-crusher” – and headed out of port. Bumping along with the surf spraying up around us, we chatted a bit and gazed out at the Morgan, our home for the next 24 hours. We were there for the experience, and in an age of digital mediation, for seventy nine people of various backgrounds to have the chance to experience a part of history first-hand – to feel the tactility of the rope, to smell the tar, to hear the creaks of the wood -was truly remarkable.

tour_with_RockyOnce on board ship, Rocky, the third mate, brought us into the hold for our orientation. “The general principal,” she said, “is people on the inside, water on the outside.” Seemed reasonable to me. She told us to please talk with the crew, they were interested in our projects and reasons for being on board. BUT – she said – if they are running towards something on the ship, best to get out of their way! Then she took us to the forecastle, or fo’c’sle, where we would be sleeping, and told us to choose any empty bunk. I found one not too far from the door, a bottom, not top, bunk, and staked my claim. Then I went back on deck.

night_thumbnailsI loved the atmosphere on board the ship at night. Provincetown glittered in the near distance, and the skies, despite the somewhat grim weather reports, were calm. There was a magical feeling about the silence of the ship, and I was not the only one enjoying it. Nearby, Robert had pulled a sextant out of the community chest below, and was aiming it at some fixed point on the horizon. He described the procedure of lunar navigation to me: “a giant protractor between the sun and the moon” he said. I was in awe of the mind that could conceive of the method.



Sean Bercaw, the second mate, sat down with me and I asked him what he thought of the old ways of navigation. “Sailors are a pragmatic bunch,” he said. “If they could have had GPS, they would have used it.” “Ah, well,” I answered, “but romanticism…” Sean finished for me:”It gets you dead!” he said emphatically. I had to laugh. All of my romantic notions aside, I was certainly happy the ship had GPS on board, especially since we’d be sailing close to shore in a storm the next day.


sailor_knows_riggingSean moved off to take care of something (sailors work constantly) and I drew some of the massive amounts of rigging on board. So much line, so many ropes, the ship is like one huge cats cradle. It’s amazing to know how many lines there are and that each and every one has a purpose and connection to something on the ship. I read that sailors need to know each line by feel in the dark, and understand what it’s purpose is. That’s an almost uncountable number to me.



sailors-coming-aboard The crew of the Morgan were arriving on board from their day in Provincetown, and it was time to turn in. We were told to expect a 5 am wake up call in the morning, so we could get an early start in hopes of beating the storm. I headed down into the hold, passing Jason, who was standing on the deck in his bare feet. “I want to get a feel of what the Native Americans felt when they were on whaling ships.” he said. I thought again about the power of experience. We can never really know what someone else felt, especially in another time, but somehow by standing in the space where they stood we might hope to gain some empathy for our shared history, and for each other. With that thought in mind, I went below.jason_barefoot




On my way to bed, I saw what seemed to me to be a typical view of a sailor in his bunk. I don’t know who these feet belong to, but I laughed out loud and loved the absolutely pragmatic (my new theme) solution to the problem of height on board the Morgan. I would use this image to remind myself to duck while walking around the hold during our journey.

didn't-fit,-feeAs I crawled into my little bunk and settled into position, I thought back to the first time I set foot on the Charles W. Morgan. All I could think about that day was the crew, what must they have felt as they pulled away from shore, destined to spend the next several years circling the ocean in a floating piece of bark. Did they feel regret watching the shore recede? Or excitement? And as the days and days of hard labor mixed with days of sheer boredom stretched into months and years, what did they think about? Dream about? Did they dream about rope? Knots? Whales? Home? Or were they just so exhausted that they didn’t dream at all? Looking up at the patterns in the wooden bottom of the bunk above me, four inches from my face, I wondered if they felt penned in by all the wood and the closeness of the rest of the crew. Personally I was surprised by how comfortable my little bunk was, with the curtain pulled across for privacy. It was tight, for sure, and I could only stretch out on the diagonal, but I liked the cozy, protected feeling it gave me. Not sure how I would feel in the midst of a storm out at sea, but fortunately I had the luxury of being docked next to a tourist town. Pragmatic thinking was beginning to seem more and more reasonable to me.

my-bunk-viewview from my bunk

I lay in my little cocoon, the ship rocking me gently, thinking about these things, and listening to the sounds of the ship creaking mixed with the light snoring of my fellow voyagers and crew. Then, I fell asleep.

OZY online mag

Read this article on my work in OZY online:

Thank you to Lorena O’Neil!!




I just returned from my experience as a 38th Voyager aboard the Charles W. Morgan, as she made her way to Boston. It was an amazing voyage and it will take me some time to process all my thoughts and feelings from the journey. As well as all the drawings!

So here is a little preview. We left early morning Tuesday, and spent a good part of the sail enveloped in complete fog. What a spiritual thing that was, to fill our white sails with the wind, and move forward into an unseen white future…trusting only our instincts and the knowledge of the captain. Kind of like the philosophical voyage the Morgan is leading us on, into a new relationship with our oceans, trusting that we can make the change we want to see in the world, unsure of the results, but guided by our knowledge and instincts. Beautiful.

The drawing above shows Captain Kip Files and the Chief Mate, Sam Sikkema, looking off the prow into the foggy distance.

a member of Studio 1482