forward out, back in

I hold my breath a lot --- under water, when I'm thinking deeply, when I'm painting and trying to hold a straight line. But when we're paddling I can't. I was already caught doing that and was corrected, and anyway on the canoe we're basically panting -- groaning and roaring and counting and shouting. I am at least. We have to breathe: forward out, back in.

3-part painting in progress — a triptych

• Panel 1: Skull and scrolls (the wall)

• Panel 2: The cats

• Panel 3: The wild Mexican sacred heart suspended in the ether

Trying to use a mistake color that accidentally picked up green, but painting a bunch of leaves is basically tedious, as is using too much of one color for too long, so -- on we go with a softer yellow, the veins and stem of a Hau leaf and then hopefully coral pink, which is really what I'd rather be doing, so fuck it, coral it is.

As I went into the paper with that very particular shade of pink (as it turns out), a small, fluffy black dog saunters up to where I sit and shakes all the salt and sea from its fur onto the painting, and really the only thing to be done at that point is laugh. Then suddenly the pink has become tiresome as well, so it's back to pale yellow.

Almost Naples Yellow is next, one of my very favorite colors, and I brush it on faster and with more immediacy for the brunt of the marigold. While I'm doing it, I become distracted by the scent of plumeria in the hands of a beautiful Latino wearing a coconut hat and speaking with that very specific cadence close behind me. Painting and writing, observing and painting and writing. Now an interesting interruption.

I've spent a lot of time on the ocean at sunrise, and over the ocean are these giant fluffy clouds that cling to the horizon. Here I always thought that was the name of our paddling crew — Kai Opua: kai - ocean or sea and opua - clouds. Though the other day I was having dinner with my Hawaiian-speaking hānai family and something more compelling was brought to my attention. Kai Opua actually refers to the very specific ocean water of Kona -- it is the ocean reflecting the clouds. I love that!

Now we've been paddling for a few months and I'm fresh to the group -- Novice B are the brand spanking new beginners. I'm lucky that I was chosen to be steersman and captain, mainly because I'm small. At $150 for the season, we train Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays every evening at five for two hours, and race almost every Saturday. During that time I'm always with one of our two coaches, Aimes or Sef, and each has their own stylistic approach. They work well together.

As steersman, I sit in seat 6, the back of the boat. I can see everything going on in front of me, and I steer with a blade that has sandpaper tape on one side to help grab the side. Usually Sef sits behind me on the ʻokole (ass) or on the ama (the outrigger float that helps balance the canoe), facing me. He corrects me the whole time.

"Stay straight, Captain! Too far over. Catch yourself. Straight!"

Accompanied by a slap, slap on the shoulder.

Then to the girls:

"Okay! Go harder! Deeper! Keep going!"

The whole time.

He's on it. Both coaches are.

I'm grateful for this -- when we graduate to Novice A in a few weeks we'll be yelled at by way of megaphone on a motorboat, no more one-on-one. So I soak it in, even when it hurts my feelings and sometimes even makes me cry. Like when I got yelled at for singing on the canoe at golden hour so fervently that Sef huli'd (pulled upside down) the canoe and I lost my fifth pair of sunglasses to the sea.

Sef is a local Hawaiian in his sixties with long, wavy gray hair. He used to dance hula and is a bodysurfer and former paddler himself. He has a daughter my age and grandkids he's proud of. He gives us his attention and focus all week, and I admire him tremendously -- his integrity, his humor and his heart. Aimes, from California, brings a different presence -- a competitive edge, some hilarious sneakiness, strong discipline, but also warmth and humor.

I find myself realizing that this is healing me from the inside out. The movement. The girls in my canoe. Working together. Our coaches who watch and yell and encourage and fight alongside us.

It's making me breathe again.