The reef clings to some major parts of the Edna. With the rising and falling of the tides, the water covers and uncovers them. Sometimes it is just a caress, other times a rather passionate bashing. If I wrap my fabrics around those, will the dye result be different, better even than that from the beached parts?
At the far end of the beach’s reef there is what looks like part of a skeleton, an iron spine with ribs protruding on either side. Contained in it is a long chain. I assume it’s the anchor chain. No longer able to hold on to the support of the deep-sea bed, its links broke when wind and water pushed the Edna onto the reef. The chain has mostly lost its flexibility and is rusted solid and attached to the rib-like cage. Two narrow pieces of cotton fabric may soak up some of the wet rust that colours the remnants in all shades of yellow, orange, brown, charcoal and black.
Closer to the Edna’s bow lies a winch. I am dreaming of the cog’s imprints, lines and lines of rust on my fabric… When I return the next day, the sea is rough – there were earthquakes in Chile and Hawaii – and my wrapping cloth seems gone. But Moana Nui a Kiva, the Big Blue Ocean, has just been mocking me. When the waters calm, I find my fabric submerged in between seaweeds and still attached by its safety chord. Hopeful I re-attach it again.
While the rib cage – as I have dubbed it – has given my cloths a beautiful golden-yellow coat with some rusty marks (see above), my dreams of regular rusty lines from the cog have not come true. Just a few red stains show up and some black smear which reveals why the winch is black and its rust doesn’t dye: decades of keeping it greased. I should have thought of that from the start! I must go and find out more about rust…
I enjoy this dialogue with the sea, the Edna and her resting place, these lessons which I learn from observation and inference. They make me feel humble and open to new experiences. They give me answers and create new questions.
Andrea Eimke 