Art & Science

DAY 232:

Twelve men have walked on the moon, stood on the shores of its ancient seas, and returned home.

The world, in one loud voice, asked these twelve men what it was like, really like, to go to the moon. I don't envy those pilots. What could they say? They weren't artists, musicians or poets. They were test pilots, engineers, and sailors who undertook the most fantastic voyages in history. If only an artist, a musician, or a poet had gone with them. . .

Like the moon, this is a place few people ever see. Mars (the McMurdo Antarctic Research Station) is a remote outpost on the edge of reality. What a waste it would be to come here only for knowledge. The science is invaluable, priceless beyond measure, but Antarctica is so much more than that. Scientists have been going down to the Ice for over a hundred years. If only an artist, a musician, or a poet had gone with them. . .

And therein lies the difference. . . because they have.

(Aurora over McMurdo taken by Joe Harrigan about two weeks ago.)


Last Sunday night we had our weekly science lecture, given not by a scientists but by a painter, an artist of some renown. He paints oils and watercolors on location, and has been to Antarctica several times through government grants. He spoke of a day at Shackleton's Hut when he was able to sit and paint a watercolor outside (because the weather was so nice). He showed us the painting, and described how his shadow had fallen across the paper. The watercolors froze to the paper in the shape of his shadow, but stayed liquid in the sunlight. It was a beautiful painting, and conveyed something those astronauts never could - the experience of actually BEING there.

That's when I realized how important my photographs are. They're the real treasure I'll be bringing back from Treasure Island. It's fitting that I ended my last letter with one of my father's watercolors. Art is the only hope I have of conveying Antarctica to anyone. This experience is worth sharing, but I can't do that with explanations. My ultimate hope is that I sit my ass down at the piano and write music worthy of all this. Until then I'll have the photographs (and these frustrating words).

Photograghs like the one at the top of the page. I took that shot out at the A-Frame last Saturday night. First I set the timer and gave myself a 15 second exposure, then I ran to get into the shot with my flashlight so I could draw "USAP" in the air. I had to draw it backwards, and had no idea if I was actually standing in the shot. (It was too dark to look through the camera.) One try, one take, one cool picture! I kept moving so I wouldn't show up in the photo (though you can see me standing by the letter "P" which I finished drawing just in the nick of time). To me, this picture captures the duality of life at McMurdo. The photograph itself is art, at least to me. And the four letters floating there are all about science: U.S.A.P. - the United States Antarctic Program.

Much has happened these last three weeks. The sun has come back to us. Already the horizon glows at midnight. A new runway is being scraped from the sea ice beyond Hut Point. This temporary ice runway will be ready for "wheels down" by October 4th. That same plane, a gigantic C-17 Hercules, will then carry me off to New Zealand. . . and home. Temperatures have begun to climb, nacreous clouds burning away in the warmer air. (I misjudged that "warmer" air by the way, and had to deal with the uncomfortable realities of hypothermia. A mild case, but I don't recommend it.) Science has been ramping up, and next Sunday I'll be assisting in the capture of live specimens from the Ross Sea. Balloons, festooned with instrumentation, catch circumpolar currents on their way to parts unknown. And yes, last Saturday I spent a second unforgettable night in the A-Frame, this time without the bonus of an antarctic hurricane. Instead, the six of us enjoyed calm air, swirling southern lights, starry skies, and the looming figure of Mt. Erebus smoking quietly in the moonlight. It's been a typical month in Antarctica.

HUGE SNOW-BLOWERS SCRAPING THE ICE RUNWAY:


I can't exactly explain what it was like when I first saw the sun. I knew I'd smile. That was easy to predict. And I knew that I'd shut my eyes and try to feel the sun on my face. I also knew it would be a pointless gesture, that I would feel the same biting cold I've felt for eight months. What I didn't know was how it would feel in my gut. It wasn't happiness I felt, or anything so simple. It was from somewhere deeper than that, as if my body, not my mind, were sighing a huge sigh of relief. A forgotten part of my brain suddenly realized I wasn't going to die down here after all. It was surprise I felt, surprise that I was going to live. Intellectually I always knew that, but my BODY didn't know, not until I saw the sun. I will never take its life-giving presence for granted again. Ever.



The artists who arrived here at WinFly came to capture what the science cannot. A painter, a photographer, a writer. They came to convey the reality of a place that seems little more than a word in an atlas to most people. They came here to make Antarctica real. I am not an artist. I am not a scientist. But I can recognize what it is that makes Antarctica so beautiful to us, and why it is that I had to come here. Art and science walk side by side in Antarctica. They are incomplete here without each other. The moon is the same, and NASA plans to return there 13 years from now. Maybe this time an artist can stow away, and bring back paintings that will carry ALL of us to a place even Antarctic Explorers only dream of. . .

ANTARCTIC EXPLORER OF THE WEEK:

In homage to the Prodigal Sun (haha), it is with much fanfare that I introduce this week's Antarctic Explorer: Lane Patterson

Lane has singlehandedly run our greenhouse all winter long. A modest greenhouse, but still it managed to provide much-needed veggies through the Night. Lane is a 100 watt light-bulb in a 20 watt world, and we've had some great late-night talks about everything from physics to how great a vacation spot McMurdo would be for vampires. Next winter, Lane will be stationed at the South Pole. I'll remain in contact with him while he keeps the Pole's greenhouse (one which he helped design) healthy and happy. In days past, Lane was involved in the University Of Arizona's closed bio-dome experiments. Not your typical Antarctic Explorer, ladies and gentlemen, I give you my good friend - Mr. Lane Patterson:



Well, once again I feel that I've overstayed my welcome. It's 1:00 AM and I've got to get up early. I never planned to let so much time pass between updates. Time down here runs its own course. I cannot believe that just eleven days from now I will leave the Ice, its beauty, and its mysteries behind. Unless Antarctica has another storm up its sleeve, I should be enjoying a nasty sunburn twelve days from now. I'll write again, and also plan to write an entry on the plane as we cross over the Ross Sea.

Yesterday after work I gave a tour of Scott's "Discovery" Hut. I'll leave you with a picture of Zack. He's a funny guy, and this picture just cracks me up:


UNITED STATES ANTARCTIC PROGRAM

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