In The Dark

Eyes squinting, head craning forwards, the man strains to see what lies ahead. He perches on his seat, towards the bow of the boat, the wood dark and rough against his white, naked skin. I think I can see goose pimples. Gently rocking, there is no swell today but he is clearly ill at ease. His shoulders hunched and sunken; his feet pigeon toed, tucked beneath him in the belly of the vessel. His arms are crossed, protecting the chest, that vulnerable expanse of skin with its topography of wiry hairs and darkish moles; a thin layer covering the beating, vital organs inside.

He is traveling forwards. That much is clear, but where he is going, not even we, the audience, can tell. We follow his gaze and peer into the distance together.

I became fascinated with Ron Mueck's 'Man in Boat' (2002) last year. Unable to see the sculpture at first hand, I carefully studied images, scouring books for photographs from every possible angle - front, side, close ups.

The man is so small! It is his helplessness which draws us in. He does not know where he is heading. Regarding the destination of his voyage, he is in the dark.

I'm in my own boat, eyes forward, trying to catch a glimpse. Sometimes I think there's land ahead, but mostly I'm not sure. I sit tight and drift.