About the work

The vessel has been here longer than the fish tubs have been empty. This is not the end of a long day, but the beginning of a longer stretch ashore. Someone tied a new rope to the bow cleat this morning, a brighter white against the faded turquoise, almost an apology for the silence. Perhaps it was the owner, or perhaps a harbor master, making sure the boat wouldn't drift further into memory. That red high-vis jacket, though – it’s slung over the rail as if its wearer just stepped away for a moment, to get a coffee or make a call, but the jacket itself is too clean, too sharp against the boat’s worn skin to have been there all week.