I decided to return to Speightstown for a second day. I really enjoyed it and wanted to follow up on the connections I made.
I arrive mid to late morning. Driving here has already become second nature. In fact, I like the island time when it comes to driving. I appreciate that I can drive between 25 and 45 km/hour, and no one is bothered. Much of this is to avoid the potholes or be ready for oncoming buses, but I've never been honked at or had maniacs speed past me. (I wouldn't say the average speed is much higher than what I'm doing, if at all - so it's pretty standard to be just going slow and steady here… island time. I vibes with it.)
I park in the same lot and walk through the alley I departed through yesterday, looking at some run-down old houses, shacks, and totally abandoned places. I notice a field - a schoolyard. Some boys are practising cricket in it. I watch for a bit - it's not a full game, it looks like hitting practice from what I can tell. As a baseball fan I feel some affinity with cricket. It looks hard. I wonder if I would get into the sport if I lived here.
I reach the busy through road east of town. Someone on the far side of the road is motioning to me… I think? He does it again, then points to a bus coming down the street. "Do I need to catch the bus?" he seems to be saying. I wave no and wait for traffic to clear to cross.
I head up the hill, getting more into the neighbourhood - primarily houses. It's up this hill I went yesterday with Curtis to the rum shack, but I think that's quite a bit further up the hill and to the north a tad. The houses are charming, and there are a few semi-commercial spots - a bar with a patio that also advertises selling cellular plans. Chickens run here and there.
It's already sweltering, and I decide to turn left at the next crossing and head back down. I pass by a woman - maybe ten years older than me, with a teenage daughter. She greets me. "You just visiting, hon?" I tell her I am from Canada, staying nearby, and just looking for interesting local places. I quickly show her the sketch of the fruit stand.
She tells me if I want some food, I should call her. She cooks every night. "You have a restaurant or bar?"
"No, just out of my kitchen," she says. Her daughter yells something back down the street, but I can't decipher what she says. Her Mom continues, "I cook all sorts of plates, fresh fish, macaroni pie, jerk chicken, you name it… Just call, and I'll sort you out." This is quite the sales pitch. "How much are plates?" I ask. "25 Bajan" - "I start cooking at 6pm - add me to WhatsApp," she tells me.
I pull out my phone and start punching in the number - gotta remember the area code. She tells me to put her name as "Mom's Kitchen." Her daughter briefly helps us out, and by this point, her son - maybe in his twenties - has come down the street (I think his sister yelled back at him). Mom wishes me well and continues on her way, telling me to call her. I say I will try - I'm usually home by six and not in town, but it's tempting. I ask if I can get back to town walking this way, and the daughter explains how I can. I walk back with the son a bit; he shows me the house - and asks me if I need anything now - a beer? I'm good, I tell him and continue on my way. I love the entrepreneurship - I wish they were around the corner from where I'm staying because it would be easy to take them up on the offer.
I go back down to town and walk down the coastal road. I see Steve from yesterday sitting nearby (in a different spot) and I make eye contact and greet him. "You found the spot yesterday?" he asks. "I did. I got my hair cut, I made a sketch… thank you!" We bump fists. He says I should walk to the far end of town where there is a boat bar - a bar made out of an old boat. It's just at the end of town. I say I'll look out for it and we fist bump again and move on.
I decide to have a look at the boat; it's about ten minutes out of the main drag. There are beaches and big trees nearby and fewer buildings. The boat is a small old fishing boat that has been turned into a small bar with some sandwiches. There's a large sand patio area with many picnic tables. It seems populated mainly by tourists at this point - I can see why there's shade, charm, and beach. I can't quite figure out the angle for a sketch, so I decide to shelve this for now and head back towards town.
I stop out front of the beach we swam at my second day here. The view back into town is nice here: a winding road, lots of telephone poles, and some shade. I decide to make a 'quick' sketch here - I figured I'd try to do a couple of these, similar to the ones I did in Hull a few years ago. I start working; I'm sort of on the street where cars park as it has a bit better shade, and the sidewalk is narrow, so I don't want to block it. I'm basically standing in front of a parked car. After a few minutes of sketching, a non-local couple passes by me and slows down, then the man pauses and asks, "Are you writing us a parking ticket?" I laugh and tell them no, "I just started making a sketch - do they even give out parking tickets here?" and quickly show them the few lines I've got down. They say they have no idea if they give out tickets but are glad. The woman reassures me, "You don't look anything like a parking enforcer."
I continue working, and a few people say hi and chat briefly. Some shells or seeds fall from the tree above me but don't hit me. After a while, someone behind me - a local - asks “Ayo, what you doing? Are you a photographer? Writer?" I turn around, he's around my age, maybe a little older. "I'm an artist, making a sketch up here" - I show him. "I'm an artist too," he says, motioning down the street where some things are piled. "Ah, that's your stuff." I had noticed a few half-finished paintings and some other bits and pieces there - he was washing a car when I passed by earlier. His friend is on the beach, behind some bushes, making a fire. I can't see what he's doing, but smoke is rising.
I get into a long conversation with this fellow - his name is Uchenna. He is a painter (acrylics) and also does crafts (beading, slippers, etc). Both his parents are craftspeople. He says people on the island don't appreciate artists. I tell him I think this is wild because the island is so beautiful. He says life is expensive here; food is expensive.
I explain what I've been doing with my career. It has been challenging, but I've figured out ways to monetize it. It's not something that comes naturally to artists and sure isn't taught in art school. I tell him about selling postcard prints of artwork for $2-5 after paying $1 to print them, and moving up from there. I suggest he could do well selling postcards on the street - given that it's legal for him to set up shop basically anywhere. He's charismatic and chatty; he's saying hello to everyone passing. I tell him I did my first art market and didn't say hi to people, just let some buy stuff, but quickly realized one needed to smile - engage people - say hello, explain a bit what you're doing - to make more money.
He likes hearing all this, I can tell he has some ideas. Then I go on a more extensive rant about the art market: "It's basically all complete bullshit. Art is all subjective. You can have a bunch of artists, famous people, celebrities, rich people, go to these shows in Miami, Milan, wherever, and some people are going to buy shit pieces of artwork for 1 million dollars - why? - because everyone there is rich and famous, and that's what the scene has determined is worth 1 million dollars. Meanwhile, you have actual artists who can paint or draw who just sell stuff anyone can afford, but they'll never make any real money because they *don't want to play that game*
I point to my business card - "That's a local corner store in Ottawa - small shop - run by a family, neighbourhood store - like many places here. I had some success with these because I did enough of them, and they resonated with people in the neighbourhoods. But I also made that artwork on the street - I sell prints of them at prices that I want to be affordable to most people - students, people just starting their lives, other artists with little money… If art is made on the street, it should be accessible to the people."
"You're real. That's real shit, you're a real one, mon."
He says something to his friend who was tending to the fire. Something like "watch the fire mon, it's really smoking" or something. I ask them what the fire is for.
"We're cooking breadfruit, have you had breadfruit?"
"I have not, what is it?"
"It's like an Irish potato, but bigger… sweeter, better…"
I go and look at the fire; it's coals surrounded by stones in the sand and inside, there is a cantalope-sized ball in the coals, black and smouldering.
It's been a long conversation, and I want to finish my sketch, so I go back to it. I work for another 10 minutes - getting the linework down, and then Uchenna's friend calls me. "Come try some breadfruit," he motions.
I pack up the iPad and head over; he hands me a steaming piece of breadfruit - the crust or shell is totally black ("don't eat that") and inside is a cream-coloured, flaky, doughy starch - similar to a potato but a little nicer. They've plated it on two big green leaves.
They tell me it's better with other things. Sauces, salt, things to dip it in, beer… etc… but this is just plain. It's still nice, it's a bit smokey, and it's real, I'm eating with my fingers.
"Yeah, I can see how this would be good with salt and butter," I say. "Basically, everything is better with salt and butter."
Uchenna agrees "You a real one mon."
"Maybe some like garlic butter," I say, thinking of having artichokes as a kid.
Uchenna and his friend offer the breadfruit to every passing tourist. They forget which non-locals that had passed earlier and they has promised breadfruit to. Most of the tourists refused. Many claiming they are full, just ate, just had some breadfruit down at a restaurant, etc. "They're just too scared," I say. I try to help them market the breadfruit. "It's good, just have a bite," I tell a few people. One woman takes a chunk.
After this, I really want to get back to work. There's only the colouring left to do, and so I work quickly. When finished I walk 30 feet back to show Uchenna and his friend. His friend loves it, and Uchenna is really impressed with the iPad. "You did all this right now?" - "I mean basically - in between talking to you guys and eating and so on… I had probably the black lines done before we started talking, so… just the colouring was done recently." I tell him the benefits of using a tablet. You don't have to buy paint, there's no mess, it's easy to carry. Paint is expensive. So are iPads, but let's say you buy an iPad and then don't buy paint for a year. He appreciates this.
I tell them I'm moving on, but I have his number and will keep in touch. He says he would go visit other places on the island at some point, and I'm up for it. Another good connection while sketching. I should note that the artwork Uchenna had "at his spot" were two unfinished pieces - acrylic paintings - I could see they were good, but unfinished. He wasn't trying to sell them… one was a commission. I really was convinced that with a bit of focus he could have something marketing his art. "Just make some $1 postcards and sell them to passing tourists for $5 - you're already talking to them all anyways."
As I'm leaving I look at the sky to the east. It's dark as fuck. I ask if a storm is coming - bit of an obvious question, but I don't know the weather patterns here. If it's me in Ottawa and I see that sky - it's a storm, and it's going to be in about 15 minutes. They tell me maybe, but it might move north because the sky to the south is clear, but… who knows, the weather can be crazy here.
I walk back towards town and 15 minutes later a torrential downpour starts. Luckily I'm near a pavilion, and I take cover under it. I try to make a sketch of the pier where people are running back for shelter. A boat is in the distance, and the layers of rain make it hard to see further out. As I'm sketching, a dishevelled man talks to me. He greets me, fist bumps, we say a few words, and immediately he starts talking about how "foreign countries shouldn't be killing children - killing so many children…" I find it hard to understand him, but I agree. There's a lot of killing of children happening. He rambles a bit. He has teeth missing, one big tooth, the whites of his eyes are brown. He wanders away and the rain continues and I keep sketching. He returns. Asks me something about Britain. I wonder if he thought I was British or American (and thus - part of the geopolitical powers that are quite ok with the killing of certain children) - I tell him I'm Canadian, and he seems to soften a bit. "I have a sister in… in… Ontario…" he struggles a bit to remember the place. "That's where I'm from. Ontario is like a parish here. Toronto is like Bridgetown. My city is like Speightstown. Smaller." He repeats that he has a sister in Ontario and wanders off. The rain has stopped and I quickly move on.
I work on another sketch from the main area of town, looking back towards where I just was. Lots of leaning telephone poles, colours, and people constantly walking by. I don't end up speaking to anyone during this sketch. I enjoy the busy street life and try to capture it as best I can, but I can already feel myself getting tired. I wrap up and decide to head for a meat roll. I go to the same shop as yesterday and got a meat roll and a raisin pastry for dessert later that night.
I wander a bit more and make a final quick sketch of one of the other fruit markets on Church Street. I don't have the energy or time to make a full sketch - I can tell they are wrapping up, so I work quickly to capture something. I walk up and down the street and say hello to Shelley from yesterday. She says she loves the sketch - it's perfect, she showed it to her friends and her daughter who said it was perfect. Shelley says the sketch sort of feels like it's 'old' which I take as a compliment and I say that's interesting because it's made with a very new technology. I show her the chattel house she suggested yesterday and she loves that as well.
I'm exhausted at this point, I decide to wrap up the day and head home. The drive is smooth - it's actually filled with potholes, and I'm enjoying my cruising speed of 30km - but I'm feeling completely comfortable driving here now.
