They've paved paradise and put in a cruise-ship dock...

Pier Park & Cruise Ship Dock, Road Town, British Virgin Islands, 2022.

 

If we substitute "cruise-ship dock" for "parking lot", the lyrics of Joni Mitchell's song from the 1970's, serves as a fitting continuation for my lament to the British Virgin Islands:

With a pink hotel, a boutique and a swingin' hot spot, 

You don't know what you've got till it's gone, 

They've paved paradise and put in a cruise-ship dock. 

As a reminder of what paradise was like in the 1970's, below are two sketches from my book "Virgin Island Sketches". An obsession with greed and flawed priorities accounts for the intervening fifty years.

The building that housed the "Come See Department Store" floated into Road Town during a 1920's hurricane and the building across the road was as far as it went in terms of boutiques.

For those too young to remember, here's Joni Mitchell's song. 

 

Unabashed Curiosity

40 years ago a young lady threw discretion aside on a beach in the Virgin Islands. Whereas the camera lens would have been considered an intrusion into her privacy, a sketchbook invites permissive and unabashed curiosity. 

I was able to captured the memory of that fleeting moment in this watercolour. No words were spoken, but when I had finished she shyly asked, may I see. 

She understood that if my consent seemed hesitant it was only because, through my work, I also stand naked before the searching gaze of onlookers.

Virgin Island Nostalgia

 

Fritz Penn's Yard. British Virgin Islands

My lament for the British Virgin Islands sent me searching through boxes of photographs taken in the 1970s and 1980s.  Some of the photographs are of my paintings from those early days and others are of the islands and islanders. The photograph below was taken at the launching of a boat built by Mr. Frett of East End. Mr. Frett is on the left with the two children in yellow, and on the right, his daughter Rita is being interviewed for BVI Radio by Michelle Abbott Smith. 

The launching of Mr. Frett's boat at East End.

A painting I made of Mr. Frett's boat under construction is featured on the first edition cover of my book Virgin Island Sketches and my paintings on the same theme are featured in one of three series of postage stamps that I designed for the island.  

In the light of current events, I am sure that many Virgin Islanders share my nostalgia for those times past.

My Lament to the British Virgin Islands

 

Road Town. The capital of the British Virgin Islands as it was in earlier days.

In 1975, while sailing north through the Windward Islands, stormy weather caused us to take shelter in the British Virgin Islands. The anchorage off the island’s capital was exposed and uncomfortable but we were told of a sheltered cove a few miles along the coast. Its entrance was narrow but and once inside the surrounding reef offered perfect protection. Our intention was to continue on our way as soon as the weather improved.

The weather did improve, but we stayed on and that idyllic cove became our home for the next twenty years.

My book Virgin Island Sketches was written in the early years of our stay. It celebrated the way of life of the islanders. Those sketches now serve as a reminder of halcyon times past, both physically and socially. 

But the writing was on the wall, and while I was busy preserving scenes from the past, Virgin Island poet Sheila Hyndman prophesized the future.

            They will come with tools and machines,        

            They will bring to light your secret places,

            They will demand your mysteries.

            They will destroy, build up.

            They will dilute your treasures,

            And rob you of your chastity.

            They will adorn you like ancient Jezebel.  

Events of the last few weeks have brought the present sorry state of those islands to the attention of the world. My feelings can best be expressed in the title of Alan Paton's novel: Cry the Beloved Country. 

Subtleties

Jan Saudek

When I despair at finding original ways of depicting the beauty of the nude in all its moods and changes, I return to the masterful art photography of Jan Saudek. Born in Czechoslovakia eighty-six years ago, he was for many years considered a disturbed artist and oppressed by authorities. He is now recognized as the foremost art photographer of our time.

I sought him out today as an antidote to the bland "fine art" nude photography that is often inflicted upon me. His subtle combination of dress and undress gives me the motivation I need to revive my Bare Minimum fashion label.