Post Surf
April 15, 2023
A few months back, I had an idea for an art project that would focus solely on this brief window of post-surf euphoria. I’d go surf until I was done, head in, change out of my wetsuit, put on my shoes (and clothes), grab my camera, and go for a walk.
Before a surf, the focus is almost entirely on the waves. After a surf, when the waves have been had, there is less urgency, more calm, and a feeling of warm contentment.
I wandered the areas around the breaks I had just surfed, working my way from Bolinas in the north to San Onofre in the south. I tried to just let my attention go where it wanted to go, without thinking too much. I found that I was more drawn to the small, everyday details that are often overlooked — basic shapes and subtle colors instead of peeling waves and perfect sunsets.
I spent the last month in California and am just getting back to Boulder. I went there for a number of reasons, first and foremost to work on growing my clock business, but also to work on an art project that I have been thinking about for some time.
In 1996, I worked as an intern at Powder Magazine (R.I.P.) which was based in San Juan Capistrano. It was my first time living near the ocean, and I was intent on learning to surf. Between having roommates that all surfed, and that Powder shared an office space with Surfer Magazine, my odds were good.
However, surfing is really hard to learn. Waves are very unpredictable and being in the water is unnatural at first, especially if there’s cold water to freeze your feet, and a thick wetsuit to weigh you down and restrict your motion. It takes a lot of determination and persistence to figure it out. But after enough attempts, you eventually get to your feet and actually ride a wave before it has broken. This is a magical experience, and is typically where surfing becomes highly addictive. One more wave...one more wave…ok, just one more wave.
I started surfing in 1996 and haven’t stopped since, despite living in Colorado. I have surfed all over the US and around the world and still love it more than ever. I miss the ocean deeply and do what I can to stay connected, traveling to surf when I can. And when The Surfers’ Journal shows up in my mailbox every few months, I read it cover to cover (while also shedding a tiny tear).
Surfing is interesting in that so much time is spent looking at forecasts, traveling to waves, getting ready to surf, watching the surf, paddling out, sitting some, paddling around some, catching a wave, then riding that wave for just a few seconds before paddling back out and waiting some more. The ratio of time spent actually riding the wave to the time spent doing everything else is incredibly low.
Despite having some truly abysmal sessions over the years (most of them from Ocean Beach in SF), I have always loved the feeling of having surfed. So, even if it’s blown-out-victory-at-sea with endless walls of freezing whitewater to the horizon and there are no real waves to be ridden, it’s always worth putting on the wetsuit and paddling out.
Because while the “surfing” isn’t always great, “having surfed” is.
Some of these images may appear “ordinary” at first. But for me, these pictures are special in that they exist a layer or two beneath the everyday surface of reality. They are the result of looking while in an altered state. And for those that are really familiar with these magical surf spots, they may recognize these as images that indicate “having surfed.”
I learned that after surfing, I was seeing things differently. I was thinking less, but noticing more. I had lost thought but somehow gained acuity.
I’m still spending time with these images, and will eventually edit them into a proper presentation. I also think that some of these could make nice monoprints as well. More to come…