Acadian redfish played an unexpected, but important role in World War II as the United States grappled with shortages of traditional protein sources. To feed both the population at home and the troops abroad, the nation turned to alternative food sources. Redfish was also used to produce fish meal for fertilizer and animal feed, helping to conserve other protein sources, such as soybean meal and meat, for human consumption.

Fish. It is one of several four letter f-words that serves equally well as a noun or a verb. The verb only implies the pursuit of the noun - it says nothing of the result. If you spot me that definition, I can confidently say that I have fished. In almost every manner, I’ve fished. I’ve trawled, I’ve trolled, I’ve dipped, I’ve jigged, and I’ve casted. But that doesn’t mean I know how to fish. Believe you me, I am no fisherman.

“Waiter - I’ll have the baked scrod” And with those words uttered from restaurant to restaurant across the Commonwealth and beyond, the confusion began. Scrod isn’t a fish. Wait, what?

Well, it’s a fish - but it’s not a species of fish.

I took up the practice of rock stacking this summer. It started as a way to pass the time on those endless summer afternoons, but what I found was an extremely meditative practice that’s taught me a bit about life. This post highlights the lessons I’ve learned from stacking rocks.

When I sit down to work I focus on bringing projects from conception to completion, rarely deviating to explore new territory or simply sit and work on a technique. Lately I’ve been trying to force myself to take the time to just sit and practice the craft. It’s not a lot of time, maybe just 10 minutes on some days and an hour or more on others. Regardless of the time, the work is focussed on the exploration of technique, not on the quality of the final product. I’m only a few weeks into this, but I’m finding that it’s made me a better artist and opened up new avenues I wouldn’t have considered before. While I’ve found this process immensely helpful, it is still a struggle to find the time, and when I do, to just let go. It seems practice requires practice, too.

I often fall into the trap of focussing on the finished piece and how it will look on the wall, forgetting to spend time appreciating the detail work that goes into a piece. I spent time this past week revisiting some of my older pieces, looking at them up close, and reflecting back on the drawing process. Given that I’ve recently shared what my artwork looks like when you take a step back, I also wanted to give an up-close look. I thought others might appreciate this different perspective.

If you look carefully as you drive Red Brook and Great Neck South roads in South Mashpee you’ll notice that the telephone poles have become gallery space for art installations. Someone, somewhere knows something about the origins of the telephone art, but it isn’t me. I’m just a spectator and a fan. Recently I’ve noticed some of the older pieces are starting to disappear. Given the transient nature of the art, I wanted to attempt to preserve some lasting memory of this art.

It was 1602 near present day Provincetown, and as a morning fog was lifting the sweet smell of sassafras wafted offshore to where the crew of the Concord sat at anchor gazing at a foreign land. A lowly mate recognizing the distinct smell exclaims “Behold! Cape Sassafras!” The captain of the vessel, Bartholomew Gosnold, retorted “Sassafras my ass, we’re calling it Cape Cod!”

Maybe it didn’t go down exactly like that, but it could have … Cape Cod could have just easily ended up as Cape Sassafras.

It’s not easy to start over. You’ve invested the energy and time into something and you’re left facing the prospect that despite all that, it’s time to go in a different direction and start over. When I start to doubt myself I’m learning to show up, put my nose down, get to work, and trust the process. By focusing on what I put into things, and not worrying about the expected outcomes, I’ve freed myself from what I have no control over. Starting over is daunting, but I’m embracing the journey and looking forward to it. I have no idea where it will go, but in many ways it doesn’t matter.

When I was gathering reference photos for the long-finned squid drawing, I was struck by the beauty of the chromotaphore patterns in the squid skin. This is a short image blog of long-finned squid inspired designs.

A client couple recently asked for an original hand-colored striped bass done with the head pointing to the right. Seemed a simple enough request, but I found myself flat footed with no options. In this blog post I explain why, and more importantly announce that both left and right facing prints are now available through the online gallery!

A hanko stamp, or seal, is a Japanese custom used in lieu of signatures dating back millennia. Instead of a signature, I stamp all of my artwork with my personal hanko.

The sea-run brook trout project was inspired by local efforts to restore fish habitat to the Childs River, a river flowing into Waquoit Bay. Background information on the restoration project, as well as the drawing process are highlighted.

“… an important reminder that sometimes the small, and seemingly inconsequential, can be signs of something greater.”

Hand-colored fish prints are the flagship product of the Waquoit Bay Fish Company. Attention, care, and creativity are put into making each fish print a unique piece of original artwork to be enjoyed for years.

The North Atlantic right whale has considerable regional importance here on Cape Cod due to its historical role and its impacts on present day industries. Here at the Waquoit Bay Fish Company we’ve been wanting to honor the majestic North American right whale for some time.

The inspiration for the Waquoit Bay Fish Company spawned, in part, from the determined and hardy Alewife (Alosa pseudoharengusnalis). Against steep odds, alewife return to their natal rivers each spring to fulfill their life purpose. As we were conceptualizing the Waquoit Bay Fish Company, the plucky alewife seemed a fitting mascot.