We again awake to the common fogs and calm, silver waters that reflect mirror images of the low flying seabirds. I prepare the outdoor painting kit, as we anticipate entering the Prins Christian Sund. This spectacular, often ice-choked, channel is a shortcut around the southern tip of Greenland; the Sund displays jagged peaks that rise 1600 to 1800 meters from the ocean. I place the easel and tools at the bow of the now sun-filled ship. As we enter the channel, the fog lifts. Thus starts the first challenge for the painter, which is the torture of deciding: should I just take photographs of this moving landscape for reference as the ship passes through the channel,  or should I try to pull off a few short sketches? Doing both would be the answer in this case. I do shoot reference material with a digital SLR; these reference photos will come in handy, because I can review the shapes later inside on the display board, if I need to resolve some painting problems or start a new painting.

Painting, however, is why I am here, and experience has taught me that for painting on a moving ship through a tight channel, I’ll do a very simple light pencil drawing, focusing on compositions that I can catch sight of farther ahead. By the time I’m ready to paint it, we are much closer. If it has not already gone past, I will divide my half sheet (15 x22) in half with painter’s tape so that I can have two paintings on the go at once. Thus, while I am waiting for a layer to dry, I can start another. Often it helps to work off the fly deck, where I can have a 360-degree view.

It seems as if I often find better compositions behind the ship. Whenever I engage in discussions with photographers onboard, we always hit on the subject of truthfulness. Are we trying to record one split second in time or are we trying to express the whole experience? For me a painting from a moving ship is a response to the many different features and angles we encounter over time and we weave together—with feeling and memory—from our experience as artists. This compression of time and space expressed through the artist’s hand and placed on paper results in a truthful piece of art.

However, the captain does play tricks with my overconfidence, as we navigate through this archipelago. More than once have I started to compose some scene in one direction, while he turns the ship in the opposite—obliterating the view. After exchanging a few “friendly” gestures directed toward the bridge, I resort to the camera for another reference shot and await the next corner.