The Story Behind a Painting: Old Newlyn Harbour

in CCC • 2 days ago




William_Banks_Fortescue_(1850-1924)_-_Old_Newlyn_Harbour_-_PEZPH_,_1996.243_-_Penlee_House_Museum_and_Gallery.jpg


It is only in the mind of a tourist or an artist
Life in a port city is romantic, even idyllic.
They think their every wish will be granted for next to nothing.
None of them wonder how I feel, being part of a relic, having lost control of my own life.

It’s all very picturesque
it must be marvellous to live by the coast
Close to the harbour, so healthy
The last fishing boat a miniature on the horizon.

Out of reach
I wish to get away from here.

The world surrounding me is grey,
Cold and bleak
Not a splash of colour
Even a desert, with ta single cactus looks more rosy
Has an embracing warmth.

With a smack, the basket falls to the ground.

I’ve had enough.
No more toiling,
No more lugging around laundry and fish.
The idle chatter with old women and children.

The last talk.

I ignore the painter throwing one apple at me
-as if I am a beast-
Yelling I should stay
His work isn’t finished yet

I am done.




5.10.26
INKtober prompts used and written in bold
Painter: William Banks Fortescue
Painting: Old Newlyn Harbour1891
The contest Art & Writing is hosted by @solperez
#ccc #story #art #painting #creativewriting #steemexclusive

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I really enjoyed the contrast between the tourist's perspective and that of those who actually live in this place. What for one person might be a romantic landscape, made up of sea, harbor, and boats on the horizon, for another person might represent a burdensome daily routine from which they long to escape. I love seaports, but I can understand that living there is not at all easy. I've always thought that the life of a fisherman was one of the hardest.

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kouba01.png

There is something deeply romantic about the idea of living near a harbor—a place set apart from the world, close to the sea, where traffic is virtually non-existent and the sound of the waves dominates. Amidst the ocean's roar, one can wash away all manner of thoughts; in contrast, when one sits amidst the "sea of humanity"—especially when weighed down by sorrow—one's own identity often gets lost.

Friend, didcAI write this? If it is the translator it is better to find another.