PT-17 Kaydet, 11x14", Oil, 2009
Also did a whole lot of figure drawing. In one workshop we sat in the gallery where ongoing restoration work is taking place on a landmark B-17G, City of Savannah, and tried to get the essence of figure movement as the invariably aged and portly (retired) workers went busily about the business of bringing the big bomber back up into pristine conditon; she came out of the works just too late for combat and was then used for decades as a fire-bomber in Canada before being pickled in a hangar for thirty years.
I also made mischief into the wee hours of the morning with, and got some very sound and encouraging feedback from, the greats. We airplane geeks sure as hell do know how to have a party.
Gestural Studies, 8x10", graphite, 2009
Check back for more progress on my big painting later this week, after I've had time to recover from it all.
Okay. Off to finish packing.
The Newport skyline
The bait has arrived.At this point the rigs go in. A squidding jig looks at first glance like any old bass plug, but further inspection reveals at the tail end, in place of the usual treble hook, a ring of thirty or so barbless, needle-like claws. Two or three jigs, spaced on a leader about a foot apart with a sinker on the end, make up a rig. Here ends the long list of special equipment; the rig is attached to a regular old surfcasting rod, enough line is paid out to touch bottom, the bail is closed, and one can then commence to jigging.
When (and if) a school moves in, things happen fast. The squid lay in wait below the school of baitfish, occasionally blasting straight through the writhing mass and into the thermosphere, but more often electing to forego the acrobatics and simply lurk until an unfortunate sand eel ventures too deep. Some think the vertical motion of the jigs perfectly simulates a one of these misplaced morsels; others are convinced the squid are simply reacting to an innate desire to grab and eat anything that moves; and still others contend that they're just pissed off at the incessant shiny, flashy, noisy things. The reason for any given lure's effectiveness is guaranteed to be a hot-button topic among fishermen worldwide. Whatever the case, when a squid decides to strike, it wraps its ten arms around the body of the jig, and finds itself unexpectedly caught on the needles. There is no fight to speak of most of the time; you pull in the line as fast as you can to avoid losing your wiggling quarry, usually getting squirted with large amounts of water and ink in the process, then grab the jig by the eye, turn it over, and Mr. Tentacles lets go and slides unceremoniously into the bucket.
Fwooosh-plop.
And once they start grabbing, they really start. It really is feast-or-famine fishing, except that the act described is more properly classified as molluscing. So it's better to go in groups; extra hands and heads are good for both the brief frenzies of activity and the long hours of ennui.
Light pollution from Thames St. and the bridge
And during these lengthy interludes one finds myriad ways of entertaining oneself, such as counting stars, pacing the deck, untangling rigs, picking one's nose, naming baitfish, singing squid songs, and impersonating squid (badly).
Phase 2: Cleaning Your Catch
(Very graphic manual dissection of squiggly beasties follows. Definitely not for those with a less-than-iron constitution)
Step 1: Grasp the now-very-dead bugger firmly by the mantle in the left hand.
Step 2: Insert the forefinger and thumb of the right hand into the jets, the open spaces between the body and the mantle. Separate the cartilage from the inner wall of the mantle. Hold the body firmly and pull.
Just slides right out.
Step 3: If you did it right, all the guts come out in one piece. There's not much holding your average squid together. Clean out any other bits that may be floating around inside the mantle.
A mess of insides.
Step 3a: Analyze the stomach contents (optional). This isn't really based at all in necessity, just morbid fascination. It's interesting, and sometimes even helpful, to see what the squid have been eating; in this case, sand eels.
Step 4: Remove the keratin. Squid have two hard parts: the beak and the transparent stiffening member that runs the length of the mantle. Again, it's just held together by cartilage. Git yer fingers in there, run them down the length of the mantle to separate, and extract.
Just pull that sucker right on outta there.
Looks like a glass stilletto.
Step 5: Skin the mantle. Pretty self-evident; just pull the skin off and toss it.
Step 6: Separate the tentacles. Also pretty simple; with a fillet knife, slice through the body just below the eye, being sure to remove the beak assembly, which comes out as a package, and discard along with the entrails.
Step 7: Rinse everything well in the sink, shake dry and toss in a ziploc bag. Wash your hands, which by now should be completely blackened by ink.
Well, it's pretty self-explanatory, but for the sake of having a well-rounded entry, complete with narration: I've got almost the whole canvas covered now, and the very beginnings of wet-tarmac reflections are showing themselves. Some of the windows are framed, though they need to be brought into order; they're way out of control. After all the background is corrected I'll get to work blocking in the figures and 50A, and finish off the reflections. Again, excuse the poor off-angle shot-- Wet Paint.
