9×12 acrylic on Canvas Board, on display at Brook Westlund Studio + Gallery in a floating frame.
Painted on the side as a ‘throwaway’ canvas, while other paintings were prioritized and I studied for a sailing certification. What started as an abstract ‘nothing’, became one of my favorite paintings.
A good friend was inspired to write a companion poem which is attached to the frame as a message in a bottle.
—
“Message in a Bottle”
by Alina Pana
The sailboat sluggishly emerges from the fog
Foam slurries form a ruffled skirt around its edges
A ghostly ballerina dancing on thawing ocean
the passing storm, its orchestra
The white flag of surrender has been raised
No captain at the helm
The crew, long lost under the sea
A compass, cracked and weathered
still points to true north
yet no eyes remain to see,
nor hands to steer
The sail’s tears etched like scars,
allow the wind to whisper its directions
The hull embarnacled with rare DNA
is carried on waves that look like angel wings
toward its inevitable destiny.
Its charter, a mystery,
yet deeply known and resonant,
pregnant with karma,
having traversed across lifetimes
when oceans were teaming with coral
the color of hearts of lovers in love
enraptured underneath borealis-drenched skies
the gleam in their eyes indistinguishable
from the stars in the infinite expanse above them
It carries sacred knowledge,
like a message in a bottle from destiny
of hope and despair intertwined,
a map showing the path through longing and ache
that carries us to undiscovered shores
if we allow the journey to start anew.
9×12 acrylic on Canvas Board, on display at Brook Westlund Studio + Gallery in a floating frame.
Painted on the side as a ‘throwaway’ canvas, while other paintings were prioritized and I studied for a sailing certification. What started as an abstract ‘nothing’, became one of my favorite paintings.
A good friend was inspired to write a companion poem which is attached to the frame as a message in a bottle.
—
“Message in a Bottle”
by Alina Pana
The sailboat sluggishly emerges from the fog
Foam slurries form a ruffled skirt around its edges
A ghostly ballerina dancing on thawing ocean
the passing storm, its orchestra
The white flag of surrender has been raised
No captain at the helm
The crew, long lost under the sea
A compass, cracked and weathered
still points to true north
yet no eyes remain to see,
nor hands to steer
The sail’s tears etched like scars,
allow the wind to whisper its directions
The hull embarnacled with rare DNA
is carried on waves that look like angel wings
toward its inevitable destiny.
Its charter, a mystery,
yet deeply known and resonant,
pregnant with karma,
having traversed across lifetimes
when oceans were teaming with coral
the color of hearts of lovers in love
enraptured underneath borealis-drenched skies
the gleam in their eyes indistinguishable
from the stars in the infinite expanse above them
It carries sacred knowledge,
like a message in a bottle from destiny
of hope and despair intertwined,
a map showing the path through longing and ache
that carries us to undiscovered shores
if we allow the journey to start anew.
