144 / 145 Monhegan
It is the rare artist who doesn’t feel a kinship with Monhegan Island and a longing to board the ferry at Port Clyde
for the ten-mile journey to this outlying destination where so many noted artists have painted over the years. Many
poets have spent time there as well. So it was with great humility that Elizabeth and I stepped onto the island pier
to throw our creative hats into the ring, however small that toss might be when one considers the legendary artists
who had preceeded us.
Perhaps it was because of its artistic aura that virtually everything on the island seemed to take on a creative
persona, from the laced curtains hanging in the windows in the bed and breakfast, to the disheveled way the skiffs
were arranged along the shore and to the rust-colored lichen decorating the rock walls. It was all eminently paint-
able and I’m sure Elizabeth’s head was buzzing with lines of poetry as well.
On islands in Penobscot Bay you have to take what the weather gives you. In our case, the weather was a cool
May fog off the ocean which ate shadows and dulled the palette. And yet a voice proclaimed that this was as much
the island as the sparkling clear days of a Hopper or Bellows painting, and that you better set your easel up and get
to work. In my case it was a journey through the town and along the coast in search of paint-stroke-friendly scenes
where the camera viewfinder became my first creative statement. The result was a collection of visual memories to
be painted later in the confines of a dry studio away from the fog where watercolors never dry.
A Much -Pa i nt ed I s l and : Mi chae l Weymou t h
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