Color study, 17.5 x 10 in.
Das Boot in question was U-853, a Type IXC-40, seen at right in port. The date of the incident was 5 May, 1945. Berlin and Hitler had been overrun by Russians the week before, and new Fürher Karl Dönitz had sent the word out to the 49 U-boats still patrolling the world's oceans to cease hostile action (many had been sent across the Atlantic to American coastal waters in the last weeks of the war to disrupt shipping with an eye towards better surrender terms). Whether the crew of U-853 ignored the message out of fanaticism--or, more likely, simply missed the call--is still hotly debated. But the answer went to the bottom with the crew; the facts remain that on 5 May U-853's crew made a reckless decision to torpedo the collier Black Point in shallow water, and less than ten miles from the Atlantic Fleet's Destroyer Headquarters in Newport, their immediate and thorough destruction resulting. U-853 was the last U-boat sunk in American waters, and one of the last sunk, period.
But our story doesn't end here. Well, okay-maybe it ends here, but there's some more stuff in the middle.
On the morning of 5 May, then-Ensign John Bradley of VC-15, who was on detachment at the time with Anti-Submarine Development Squadron Atlantic at Quonset Point NAS, was piloting a TBM-3E Avenger at low level near Montauk Point, training American sub crews, when his radioman, Clifford Brinson, spotted the long, low form of a submarine. It was 4 or 5 miles off the right wing, where it shouldn't have been. Taking a closer look, they suddenly realized that it was the distinctive "laundry basket" conning tower of a Type IX U-boat they were seeing, heading east towards Block Island.
Observing the strict radio silence protocol then in effect, Bradley made a beeline on the deck for Quonset to report the sighting. He recalls that, typically of Rhode Island weather, the visibility deteriorated quickly as he flew up the coast; heading up the West Passage only minutes later, he noted that the upper half of the old Jamestown bridge was obscured by fog. He landed at Quonset and reported to the Detachment commander, then walked back outside to find the base completely socked in.
It seems that in spite of Bradley's actions nothing was done, and in fact no records remain of the report. Perhaps it was dismissed, or maybe the lousy weather kept the destroyer fleet from mobilizing and hunting down U-853 before the Black Point was torpedoed.
This year marks the centennial for naval aviation, and also the 25th for the ASAA, so it's kind of a big year for aviation art. To this end our annual exhibition and forum is being held this year in Pensacola at the Naval Aviation Museum. With this in mind, I've been looking for a good naval subject to submit. Not only does this fit the bill perfectly, but also it happens to be a moment of pertinent and interesting local history, which satisfies the Rhode Islander's native inferiority complex. Now if only I can get it done by the sumbmission deadline, 1 February.
Progress so far: Into and out of thumbnails (see below). Selecting the moment was pretty straightforward: Bradley, keeping one eye on the boat, has begun to turn towards Quonset, only 100-150 feet off the waves. The cloud cover at the time was reported as overcast with low scattered, which gives me some freedom in balancing the cloud masses.
As the refinement process went on, I decided on a wide-format painting. Eventually I came up with a balance I liked, and enlarged it slightly (seen below):
I've done the DG plot, but I may need another. With a station point 33.6ft aft, 86.3ft port, and 22.9ft above the spinner, and therefore an azimuth span of 26 degrees, the viewing angle is pretty wide, as is the 60-degree picture plane. Expect to see another early next week.
Almost there....
Although it's starting to really, actually, kinda take shape now, it's been pickling for far too long. I'm no Van Gogh for productivity. Granted, enough other projects have been running alongside this to keep me busy. But I'm glad it's not a commission, since I'd have lost the job long ago.
So the whole thing's been gone over again tonally. Major errors in line have been corrected, and parts of the painting have even been brought up to a near-finish. Of course, the grisaille still pokes through in places, most notably in the terminal windows. The necessary renovation of the terminal building itself looms ominously in the near future. And let's not overlook the extra importance of nailing the figures in this narrative self-portrait. Updates coming shortly, as soon as I can safely re-enter the cave.
Some big hops forward have been made, though it doesn't show readily: The sky has been put back in check, the treeline's done, we're closer to the right shade for the side of the hangar, I've started to recover the airplane from the gigantic mess I made, and various other bits have been nudged in the right direction. Some things are obviously in need of fixing, i.e. the warped steel roofing and the split-level roadway on either side of the vert-stab, and we'll just see how many more of them pop up during the rest of the process. But that's what paint is for, after all- to cover up all the mistakes you made with the last layer of paint! The grayscale version below shows the values holding up okay so far.
The Artist At Work, Oil on foamcore, 6x8"