On New Year’s Day as the temperature and the snow dropped on New England, I arrived in St. John, Virgin Islands, and began to fret. The temperature here is perfect. The sea is thrillingly blue and the beach is bone bright. I’m living in a house that clings to the side of Mt. Bordeaux, the highest spot on the island. Hurricane Hole, a nicely protected deep water bay, is visible from the porch, as are the islands of Tortola and Virgin Gorda. Little yellow birds, out for the evening feed, are negotiating the wind to land on my work table in hopes of a crumb. Chimes and motorcycles can be heard in the distance. The only real challenge to peace of mind is remembering to drive on the left. But with everything being so bucolic, I’m worried about making art that is cliché. So, I thought it would be wise to spend time studying the landscape through photography. For five days, I’ve hiked through the National Park land, diligently looking for the unique panorama and revelatory detail. After reviewing hundreds of photographs, it seems that I am living in a postcard.
Wish you were here!