Dali and Bellamy, met for coffee…

Here’s what I stated last year when I replied to this same prompt:

“As I style myself as a ship’s carver, I can see myself as an apprentice in the shops of McIntire, Bellamy, Robb, or one of the Skillins brothers. When I visit the Mystic Seaport or Salem’s Peabody Essex Museum, I find myself standing among the works of those I consider my masters. “

Now, let’s walk a bit deeper into the woods. Watch the overhanging bushes here. The path is narrow and dark. 

One day, while running around with my friends in Manhattan, I literally ran into Salvador Dali—that’s right, the man himself—in the flesh. He courteously helped me get up and cautioned me to slow down. How did I know who he was? He was a hero in our house—a famous Spanish (actually, like my family, Catalan) artist in New York City. My Uncle Lenny’s portraits of ships’ in foam, surf, and storm may have graced the walls, but Dali was a recognized art superstar in our house.

Now, we can fast-forward to the very beginnings of my life as a carver. No, the first couple of years did not yield figureheads, sea sprites, or anything maritime. Sculptures and small works influenced by Henry Moore, Jean Arp, and Dali were the first things off my bench.

So you say, “Well, we don’t see much of that influence in your current work.” And you are right. But it’s more complex than that. It turned out that Dali was kicking around inside my mind more than I thought.

A few years ago, I had one of those intensely realistic dreams. I was sitting in a Portsmouth coffeehouse sipping an espresso and listening to Dali and John Haley Bellamy discussing distortion and shape in sculpture. Bellamy, one of my big heroes in maritime carving, talked about how he elongated the wings and necks of the eagles he carved for effect and to act as a counterpoint to realism. He also mentioned his minimalistic cutting of the feathers as something his contemporaries had yet to experiment with. Dali was excited and offered the opinion that Bellamy was an early proponent of many of the features that later surreal and abstract artists would elaborate on. Then they turned to me and asked what I thought.

I woke just as I was opening my mouth to reply. I quickly got out a book with many photos of Bellamy’s work. The extreme elongation of the necks and wings is there, but I never remember that being noted critically.

Don’t worry—my work will not involve dripping clocks or melting ships. However, I am still thinking about that dream and its implications for my future work. My ability is sufficient, and I might someday revisit some of my past impulses.

Why not?