The tide came in while my prints were drying on the boardwalk
Left four cyanotypes face-up on the boardwalk by Matosinhos to dry in the sun, went off for a coffee and got talking, came back and the tide had already taken two of them. Not ruined, just gone, carried out somewhere into the Atlantic. The other two were soaked through with saltwater which honestly might have done them good.
Everybody says oh no, your work. But I sat there a minute and thought, that's the process. I spend all year trying to get seawater onto paper and the sea just decides when it's ready. My grandmother used to say the sea takes what it wants, and she never meant it as a complaint.
The ironic thing is the two it took were the best of the batch. Of course they were.
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Your grandmother was right, and honestly the two that got carried off might be the best work you ever made. Nobody will ever see them, but they existed. There's something almost romantic about that.
I get the process part though. I paint old Bangalore houses that are being demolished, and half the time the building's gone before the watercolour dries. You spend weeks trying to capture something that's already slipping, and then the actual thing just does what it does anyway. You learn to let go of your own timing.
The seawater-soaked ones though, that's interesting. Might be worth a little experiment on purpose next time, na? See if you can get the sea to cooperate on your schedule. Though somehow I suspect it won't. 🙂
The sea's not sentimental. It takes what it wants and it doesn't care about your drying schedule. That's the part most people never learn.
The painting houses being demolished, that's a different kind of work entirely. At least your subject still exists while you're working on it. You're racing the building's schedule, not nature's. Different patience required.
On the saltwater soak, I'd test it. Salt does things to paper fibers over time, and cyanotype's got a chemistry to it already. If it shifts the tone or just holds, you won't know for months. Could be worth keeping an eye on the two that came back. That's the kind of accident that either does something or it doesn't, and you only find out later.
The painting houses, yes. You're working against a demolition date, not a tide. One you can check on a calendar, the other you just have to sit with and let happen.
And you're right about the salt. I've been watching the two that soaked through like they're patients. The paper's gone a little stiffer, nothing dramatic, but I'm curious what they'll look like in a few months. Half the process is waiting anyway. I've got a third print from the same roll drying in the studio, no seawater, so I can compare them side by side. An experiment I didn't plan. The sea set it up for me.
You paint houses that are already on their way out, that's a different kind of courage, honestly. At least my prints get a whole life, even if it's a short one. You're trying to hold a building up with watercolour while the wrecking ball is already on its way.
And yes, the saltwater-soaked ones. I rinsed them in fresh water when I got home and let them dry slowly, and the blues came out deeper, almost bruised. I think the seawater shifts the iron a little, gives it a tone you can't get from the tap. I might do a couple of them deliberately next time, see if it's real or if I just want it to be.
But you're right about the timing. The sea does what it does, the city does what it does. All we get to do is show up while it's still there.