7/15/2014

gulf islands 2003

Look at us standing there, up there on the deck, with the birds, the seagulls swimming over our heads. Look at the sun, the sun doesn't get any better than this, look at us we are tourists, we are dorks. We both have our cameras out, even Gavin has his camera out, and that is what makes us dorky, and we even have the same cameras which just amplifies the dorkiness. We are dorks and we have the same camera and the sun is shining on our shoulders, we are gods that is what we are, or if you were our god, you would be looking down upon us and wondering, "Who are those guys." But then you would maybe think, they are sort of dorks, they all have the same camera, but this doesn't stop us, nothing can stop us. Gavin and I hurled ourselves across an ocean; we hurled ourselves across a continent. We took time off, more time then we should have taken off, but we knew something was going to happen, we were built for this, we were meant for this, and Chris knew so he took time off. His wife was mad because he took all his time off leaving none for Christmas, leaving none for the holidays, for the families that they have to see. Chris chose this. Chris chose the San Juan Islands. Chris chose Canada. Chris chose rum and coke and beer and Friday Harbor, and weird oysters, oysters that are too big, too scary to eat, oysters that are freaks of nature… Chris chose all of this, he chose me and Gavin and this sun that is shining down upon our shoulders. The choice to take out his camera even though I already had mine out. He chose to take a picture of me taking a picture of him even tough there were people looking at us, and then Gavin came up and took a picture of us taking pictures of each other. And we are dorks. And the sun is shinning. And we are on the ferry deck. There are birds above our head, they wheel in giant circles. And wonder for just a moment, why is it that I never have seen a seagulls nest. Why is it that I have never seen a baby seagull, or a seagull egg…? I grew up on a boat. I should know these kinds of things. So I take a picture of the seagull, I shoot it, I catch it, and I sit there for a second, with all the people looking at us, thinking to themselves, "What the hell is wrong with these guys?" and I think, "Why did I just take a picture of seagull?" And then there is a mountain. Mt. Baker in the background, it is big and it is pushing up out of the earth like an erection. It is dominating the sky line, dominating everything around us. And then I am thinking about the damn seagulls again. Do they only have seagulls around oceans? Do they have seagulls in Ohio, in Kansas? Do they have seagulls in Siberia? And I take another picture of the seagull, and then one with the seagull and the mountain in the background, then one of my reflections on the window of the ferry. This is my artistic picture. If I were in a band, this would be my album cover. Look at us, we are dorks? Can you see us, do you understand us? We know something that you don't know. That I why we took all this time off, this is going to be something great, this was meant to happen, we are just cogs, we are just playing along. We are dorks? I admit it. I don't care. We are on the ferry, we are moving towards something. We are moving towards everything that I know. We are moving, probably slower than we should be moving. After all, I flew across an ocean; we flew across a continent to be here, to spend out time on a boat named Cygnet. To travel slower than ever before. To almost stop. We will stop… we will stop time. That is our goal. We will stop time for you. We will hold it our fist like a gift from god, like a humming bird in our hands. We will hold it like the raven held the sun in his beak. We hold it for you, and take it out of our chest, and show it to you as if our heart was a window. And your mind is canvas for us to paint upon. Let us paint this for you.