As I sat on my paddle board near a small islet in southern Finland peering down at the ocean floor, a kayaker paddled by and asked what I was looking for. It was hard to explain, or at least bizarre to mention I was looking for my paintbrushes that washed away from the islet the night before. Not many keep their cherished art materials on a random islet in Espoo, Finland. I had been working on a new piece in Finland and had the worst of luck the previous few days that climaxed with me losing all of my painting materials from a storm the night prior. “Yeah I was kinda working on an art project here and left the materials here overnight” I told him. He was slightly confused to say the least. And so was I, but of-course for different reasons. Confused as to why I would have such poor fortune attempting my newest work of art in Finland, I went back to the drawing board that night.
Scouting on Google maps is step 1 in this new body of work, where I use all natural, washable pigments to paint large-scale portraits on rock faces that can only be understood from an aerial perspective. It was late in the evening and my two children were fast asleep as my wife and I enjoyed some evening downtime. As I played around on google maps, hoping to find another Islet where I could recuperate from my recent failure, my phone glitched and landed me in Norway. My heart skipped a beat momentarily. Norway was where it all began. It was the catalyst that sparked the work that I do now. When I first crossed the border into Norway back in 2016 with my wife and our 1997 Vento Volkswagen, I knew some part of me had come alive. It was the beginning of merging my love for large scale murals, nature, photography/videography and the thrill of a possible adventure. A lot had changed since 2016, my wife and I had 2 children now, our eldest was 2 and a half and our newest addition to the family was only 3 months. It made my next question to my wife sound ridiculous I need to find another location to paint, do you want to drive to Norway with the kids?" I asked. She looked at me and without hesitation, raised her brows and said “Sure, why not?” And then I remembered why I had married her.
We decided to head out to Hamn I Senja, a region right next to the Bergsøyan Islands, a stunning Archipelago with water clear to depths of up to 35 meters, no extreme tides and of course islets with rocks of fantastic colours, shapes and textures. Many of our friends and family thought we were ridiculous for considering such a trip with 2 young children, but to be honest we weren’t completely sure if were were sane either. We devised a crafty plan that my wife and kids would take an overnight train to the farthest point north in Finland and I would drive over to meet them where we would then drive only 6 hours to Norway instead of 16. We arrived on Saturday, July 18th to beautiful weather and scenery that tempts you to pull over with every new bend in the road. As we turned the corner to reveal the Bergsøyan Islands, I was in awe. The only element to steal such a sublime moment was the weekly forecast. The weather forecast showed only one day the entire week of our stay with slightly clearer skies, which poses a serious problem with the materials I use.
The materials I use are simple, all natural pigments powders mixed with the source water and applied with a garden sprayer and paint brushes. Due to the fact that there is no binder, or glue to hold the pigments, a majority of the pigments will begin washing away almost immediately if it rained. I had a bizarre, blind faith going into this trip that miraculously the weather would just work out. What seemed to be offered to me now was only a single decent day and it would be the following day of our arrival, which would leave me no time for proper preparation. I ceased to believe I would only have a single day to paint in a location I dreamt of painting in for years. The next morning I packed my materials planning to ONLY take photographs of various islands to then go back and plan what I would paint back in the comforts of our rented airbnb. For some reason that I cannot even recall now, I brought all of my materials, which makes no sense. Its not as if I was going to scout an island, photograph it, plan the portrait photograph and paint the piece all in a single day... At least I had never considered it would be possible.
That morning I brought no extra food or water. I thought I had convinced myself that I was ONLY scouting and photographing a potential spot which shouldn’t take more than a few hours. I set out at 8 in the morning, the weather was cloudy but the water was quite still for the most part. As I inflated my paddle board and began to pack my gear everything began to shift as if I seemed to be entering an entirely new world. In typical Norwegian fashion a storm-front came in, blowing fast winds and causing rough waves. There was some onlookers near the rock I was prepared to set off from, I imagine they were wondering what on earth I was doing setting out with a paddle board in such conditions. I desperately jumped on the paddle board nearly slipping off and realised I was in the clutches of another power.
It was as if I was unwelcome in this new land of the Bergsøyan Islands. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling though. Just a few months ago while scouting location on various islands in Finland in June, I learned that seabirds nesting season during the summer is not to be meddled with. Seabirds a few weeks ago had literally dove down to attack me while scouting a place to paint. I realised collaborating with nature was much more of a reality than I could have ever imagined. And now with these rough winds occurring out of nowhere, I felt I had disturbed the Titan of Bergsøyan. And he was either going to spit me out or I would find safe passage into his heart. I now found myself using every ounce of my strength to paddle to the nearest islet. My desperate attempt probably estimated around 20 minutes, but it felt like hours as I didn’t cease to paddle as hard as I could, sometimes paddling backwards to go forwards. I miraculously made it to the island with my legs trembling and my body in shock. I wasn’t expecting this at all. I was in decent shape for this kind of strenuous exercise but was totally out of my depth when it came to stressful scenarios in water. Knowing the wind could have swept me away, pushed me to the edge of my comfort zone.
The anxiety continued to build as I had a whole slew of concerns when trying to catch my breath on the island. Can I even fly my drone in these winds and risk the entire venture failing as I have no backup drones? Even if I snap a photo, I am not getting back in this weather, how long until it calms down? I have a wet suit on, and am starting to get cold not moving and have very little dry clothes and no extra food or water. I began to panic. A few moments later I saw a boat from the mainland coming straight towards me. As they approached, I realised they clearly thought I was stranded and let’s be honest, I was. They asked if everything was alright. I proceeded to make up some answer like I was waiting for the winds to die down to snap a few photos with my drone. As I watched my chance of rescue fade in the distance, I realised there were changes occurring within me that are akin to why so many participate in adventures of all kinds. I realised I was in the present more acutely than I had been in a very long time. I was stranded voluntarily and it started to feel like it was all I ever wanted. I was not completely safe, but I was completely alive.
I prepped my DJI Mavic Air drone for flight. It performed great in the high winds, and I wondered why I was so concerned just a few moments prior. After photographing the island I thought had the most potential, I began the series of steps I use when painting on any large surface. I began to attempt to photoshop various portraits that I happened to already have on my iPhone. Translation: I WAS COMPLETELY IMPROVISING AND HAD NO IDEA WHAT I WAS DOING!
At this time I was really starting to to get cold and felt numbness in my hands, realising the wet-suit was too tight, I had to make quick decisions and began to shift into another gear, a sort of survival mindset that heightened my awareness of the present moment even further. As an artist I am very interested in what triggers the state of flow. A highly sought after frame of mind where some individuals confess to being so involved in their present activity that they feel they aren’t the ones making the decisions. What typically follows could feel like an out of body experience. I remember listening to a podcast that discussed how athletes that engage in extreme sports are much more likely to enter the flow state due to the risks associated with it. Although I can in no way compare what I was doing to that of athletes doing extreme sports, I began to pulse in and out of a heightened sense of awareness. There was only one main factor pushing me over the edge into chaos however. I was just way too cold. I sat crouching inside a cranny of the islet rock to avoid the winds and began editing possible compositions on my iPhone’s photoshop app. The Titan of Bergsøyan island seems to still loom heavily over me with continuous high winds and no sun in sight. I needed to get warm. I needed a divine intervention in this new land. I needed the light.
And so I prayed. Prayed to God for a fire to enter my frigid bones.
To my amazement, the sun pierced through the clouds in less than a minute after my plea. I began to feel the sensations I desperately needed return to my hands. A few moments later I managed to find a portrait that interacted with the environment beautifully. Often it could take me many hours to multiple days to find a subject matter to click with the surrounding. Here it happened in fractions of that time. I was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed that the pieces started to fall together. I had been granted safe passage to create in the heart of the Bergsøyan Islands. Everything within me and around me was quiet now. The surrounding mountains however, seemed to still be engulfed by the clouds that had just raged moments ago, but here in the Bergsøyan islands it was perfectly still. I could not help but cry as I prepared my materials, so full of emotions I didn’t fully understand.
The few hours that elapsed felt like a week. It seemed it was only appropriate to pass this sort on initiation before being approved to paint. However the hurdles were far from over. One of the largest inconveniences were that my pressure sprayers clogged up unceasingly the entire day that proceeded. I never knew when I would get a proper spray from them. I had also given myself the most difficult challenge, as the main features of the portrait were planned on a steep declining towards the water. Despite the challenges, I was somehow empowered with an otherworldly faith that everything would come together perfectly. My wife soon called me a she was starting to worry. “I am going to be painting here until I am done,” I told here.. “What!?” she responded. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She pressured to convince me otherwise, as I had no food or water and would have to walk 3 hours back to the airbnb IF I even managed to finish before the next morning. I just smiled. I was in a state of Euphoria, I was going to pull this off. It felt like destiny.
In a state of perfect peace and confidence I entered into the world of my dreams. The sound of the water lapping against my confirmed canvas, a heart shaped rock adjacent to some of the most incredible tones of flora and the unforgettable, arctic, turquoise water. The seabirds rattled on at me as if to give a critique of my work thus far, the surrounding mountains echoed they’re Norse archaic chants, and the midnight glow of the sun, filled me with life.
The painting process was not easy, doubts whispered into my ear nearly every hour, but they were silenced by a simple truth. I wasn’t going to stop painting until the rains washed it away. I wasn’t giving up. I painted non-stop until the early hours of the morning, which due to the midnight sun yielded the perfect light. It wasn’t until the final hour that it came together and I had just enough battery in my drone to take the final video and photo. I couldn’t believe it. What I saw next was completely unplanned. The midnight sun illuminated the west facing rock beautifully, it emphasised the textures of the rock and gave the slightest glow to the protruding rocks the portrait rested on. What astounded me even further, was the portrait now had an entire neck. Due to the shifting of the tides, the low tide had revealed the entirety of the neck as well as the beginnings of a shoulder. I had no intentions of including a neck, and now it looked as if it was completely intentional.
The final result truly astounded me. Not because it was any of my own doing, but quite frankly because of the opposite. I was struck by an overwhelming feeling that what had just occurred on a tiny Islet in the North of Norway, was a work that had begun long, long ago. A work that I can connect to my childhood, through my various stages as an artist that culminates to the present moment of me sharing this deeply personal experience. I had hardly understood exactly what I was creating, rather I had submitted to a higher power to guide my hand and create the work I could never have done on my own. I had been thrown into the unknown and inside that chaos a new creation was revealed. Much like the great Michelangelo said about his process of sculpting...
“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free. Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it".
The human experience is often a patient yet painful chipping away of what has been buried and begun long before.
INCEPTUS
Our purpose is to keep excavating, to keep climbing, paddling and persevering through the storm, until we find ourselves within its heart…
And there, we may yet find the treasures we have been searching for.
