For Ian Stephen the inclusion in the Sail Loft commission of the two vessels combines two major strands of his own work, as for the one-time coast guard and award-winning poet the gap between craft, art and life is as shallow as the waters at the mouth of the Port of Ness and as obscure a conception as the mouth of the much newer harbour at Brevig.
Over the years, Ian's work - whether poetry, photography, sculpture or performance - could be said to have run a line between craft and art that is in its way the gift of his Hebridean upbringing, a land where the basic, onorous tasks of daily survival placed greater importance on the value of function and form in techniqué than ideals and concepts and which found its nadir in the craft of boats and the craft of peak stacks.
But such a proposition is, of course, a distortion quickened by sentiment. Ian's work draws on the first-hand knowledge of, and comfort with the craft that was before him but brings to it the sensibilities and judgement of the Academy: the archetypal post-modern folk artist.
Interpretation aside, Stephen's poems dip and yaw and billow as though the words themselves were exposed to the salt work of the sea and the sea rhythms of a freshening gale. Language, like knots, it seems, can be tightened by seawater and then, isn't poetry language with all the reefs out?
In one poem, 'Broad Bay', part of the collection 'Providence' (published by The Windfall Press), where the poet previously focused on the vessel, it is not just art and craft that are indivisibly spliced but the fabric of men and boats, their surfaces and their beings:
These primed patches express
metallic pink, blotched blues,
rounding at their edges.
These clinker boards are crossed
by retaining courlene
orange lines
to Goat Island.
Timbers are of differing soundness.
Bitumen seeps to dry bilges.
Planed grain shows.
Wind tan on exposed skins.
Traces of compounds
may or may not
preserve us.
And true to the sensitivities of the artist, the inclusion of the renovations ties the Sail Loft, that most maritime of buildings now undergoing restoration and conversion for much-needed new housing in Stornway, back to the sea, back to its watery past in celebration.
Ultimately, hidden in the binding of traditional boats and poems is the fact that both are vessels. Anyone who has been beguiled by the closeness of the water when sailing these craft, by the wind-full sail and the hard graft of sheets and oars will know, too, that both boats and poems bring forth a new and invigorating world of words.
© Peter Urpeth, 2005
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