There is something alluringly inpenetrable about seafaring towns. Perhaps it is that air of magic that comes with being so intimately entwined with the rhythms of nature, with death, the weather, and God, a breathing in and out of time, where days become years, and generations contract into a single moment. I delight in following the clues that beckon the seeker, the chains, crosses, and anchors that tell their symbolic tales, imagining their implications interwoven into a net of humanity.
I made this drawing on a miserably cold day, unable to resist the sheer grandiosity of the image, and if you pay attention, you can follow my reasoning through the lines of the art and the notes.
