medium: pen, ink, wood, glass, paper - mixed (September 2023)
Northumberland Fisheries Museum Hector 250 Art Contest winner
Rot boards creaking. Foam waves slapping. Soaked bread moulding. Cramped and crushed. Starved and disillusioned. Lost on an endless roll of sea and sky without a horizon to save. Desperate to return; helpless sailing on.
70 days.
70 nights.
Whoever said adventure was fun?
‘the good ship…’ is an image inspired by the journey of the Scottish immigrants aboard the Hector. Their journey of angst, suffering, and hope. And a most compelling story. One that requires feeling. Deep empathy, understanding, and imagination.
As a mixed-media-light-box-digital-film-making artist I create images made of paper and recycled materials and manipulated light. Curated worlds of two-dimensional cutouts and three-dimensional sculptures set against a multidimensional backdrop of colour. I’ve dabbled with many mediums over the years - oils, acrylics, pastels, and watercolours - but the light-box is my home. The entire process is “mistake friendly” requiring equal parts patience and spontaneity. Impromptu imperfection. The slightest adjustment of the camera, aperture, or intensity of the sun changes everything.
Every image becomes a hunt for beauty.
A chasing after.
But never quite catching.
Since arriving in Pictou in August I’ve found myself fixated on the story of the Hector. The passengers. Their motivations, feelings, beliefs. Farmers and folk who were chasing something better. Yearners and strivers the lot of them. Adventurers who dared to question the establishment. Risk takers who believed in a better life. Dreamers daring to dream.
Naive to hope.
Desperate to try.
Courageous to leave.
Their story is more than fascinating history. It’s convicting. Dynamic. Familiar. My mother is the daughter of Scottish immigrants and a first generation Canadian. Namesake of Clan Donnachaidh - or Robertson - as the clan is known today. Shamefully, though I own a kilt, I don’t yet know enough of my own kin’s story. But I do know this: every spear has a tip. Someone has to cut the way. Someone has to be brave and lead. I am grateful to the souls who donned the Hector and carved a path for others to follow. And equal to my admiration for the Scots, is my gratitude to the Mi'kmaq who welcomed, nurtured, and sustained them.
Deeper still, the story of the Hector has become personal. Visceral. A mirror of my own experience in real time.
It isn’t one-for-one. Whatever “tribulations” I am going through, I know they are nothing compared to the voyagers faced. But the similarities our or tales are striking. Eerily similar.
For like the Scots aboard the Hector, my family and I have been on the road for over ten weeks (70 days) give or take a day. Like the Scots aboard the Hector, we’d left our beloved homeland on July 7th with our sights on Nova Scotia. Like the Scots aboard the Hector, our decision to leave our homeland (Ontario) was months, if not years in the making. Brought on by years of struggle and hardship, job loss and financial insecurity. In March of 2023 my wife secured a job in Antigonish and our move began to take shape. By early July we moved out of our house and by mid July we were legitimately homeless. Nary a house to be homed. Bouncing from to place from place, staying in camps and cottages, trailers and hotels. Thirteen “temporary homes” in total. With our three kids in tow. Hardly romantic: our move to Nova Scotia has been a test of faith.
Like the Scots aboard the Hector, our move has demanded patience, resolve, and resilience. And like the Scots aboard the Hector who were greeted by the kindness of the Mi’kmaq, we too have been met with the warmth of strangers, cups of tea, conversation, songs, and food.
By God’s grace we found a home and move in today. An old ship captain’s house seeping with history and character. Perched atop a hill overlooking Pictou Harbour. The very same hill, looking over the very same harbour, that saw the Good Ship sail into 250 years ago.
When my wife forwarded me the details of this art competition, I felt compelled to enter something. Anything. I managed to cobble together supplies enough to build a light-box, set it atop the picnic table at a rented cottage (temporary home #11), and set to work. I sketched, crafted, and cut. Put myself into the feeling of the Hector. Reflected on their peril. Disappointment. Their grit and determination. Imagined those brave souls and the ones who received them.
And chased after the imperfect beauty of their story.
I am humbled my image won the Hector 250 Art Contest. And I am excited to continue exploring Pictou, the harbour, and the Good Ship.
