Top Photo: On the way to work in "The Box."
Bottom Photo: Bruce at the "office."
Nearly 4,000 miles from the sunny Caribee, in a far more temperate climate, sits a wee building that has been Bruce’s studio for the past dozen years. “The Box,” as we often call it, was first built to store some of our belongings when we took a cruise that ended up taking us away for seven years. That stout little structure eventually morphed into a place to paint. It now holds a sturdy wooden work bench, dozens of cans of dazzling color, a chromed steel pan and Bruce’s artistic energy displayed on the walls through photographs, sketches and new ideas. Partially finished paintings lay on racks to dry.

This summer, that’s where Bruce is spending a good deal of time. Often rising before the rest of the family and the sun make their appearance, using those uninterrupted, quiet hours of the day, he heads down a zigzagging narrow trail through the woods that ties together our house and the studio. The way is short, yet long enough to somehow transport Bruce from the Pacific Northwest to the trade-wind tossed islands of the Caribbean.

During the past decade, Bruce has painted over 1,000 tropical images, most of those for Bahama Breeze. He’s often asked, “How do you do it? Where do the ideas come from?” He usually gives the short part of a long answer. “You can’t make this stuff up!” Working from sketches and photographs collected during years of sailing through the islands, he creates one composition after another that offer a glimpse of the beautiful yet zany life in the West Indies. All those little rum shops, markets and stores full of wacky signs in Bruce’s paintings really existed somewhere. Some still do. The rest have been obliterated by sun, time or destructive hurricanes. It was a job to find them and it’s a joy to paint them.

We’ve had some memorable adventures while “hunting” for those cultural inspirations. You just have to know that they’re usually off the beaten path, down the “road not taken.” What we’ve found there, far from any tourist destination, is often a slice of island life just too good to be true. One time we hiked over the top of Bequia’s main rise, down a long, dusty and rutted road to get to a fish camp near the village of Paget Farm. Thirsty from the long trek, we ambled into a tiny rum shop for refreshment. After ordering cold beers, we sat on a rough wooden bench situated amongst an assortment of wooden open boats. Bruce quietly pulled out a tiny sketch pad and got to work.

Knowing that West Indians DO NOT LIKE having their picture taken, sketching has, for the most part, been a safe alternative for capturing a scene. That day, while Bruce was busily moving a pencil over paper, the locals milled around, chatting and occasionally including us in the conversation. Suddenly, a tall fellow walked up and stood inches from Bruce. With a stern face he looked down and asked gruffly, “You drawin’ me?” Although Bruce had only put the guy’s feet and lower legs into the sketch, he knew that was enough to potentially spell trouble. Just when I thought the man was about to throw a punch, Bruce gambled and said, “No, you’re too ugly.” I winced, barely believing what I’d heard. It was uncomfortably silent for a few seconds, before everyone erupted with uproarious laughter. People were slapping Bruce on the back. “Mon, you too funny!” The big fellow took the sketch, laughing and nodding approval. West Indians DO LIKE jokes!

Those precious, priceless sketches and the photos we’ve captured have all found their way into at least a painting or two. We’re looking forward to getting back to the islands this fall for another inspiring “hunting season.” It’s a job and someone has to do it!

Jan