Painting Iceboats

On Tuesday I set up my sketching stool in the middle of the Hudson River, a few hundred yards out from the shoreline.


Beside me was a foot-wide crack. Every once in a while it groaned and creaked. When a tug passed by in the shipping lane, the crack let out a dull, low thud, which reverberated up and downstream.

The sun was shining, but there was no wind. That was a good thing, because it meant that the iceboats would hold still while I painted them in gouache.

With the temperature hovering around ten degrees Fahrenheit, watercolors tend to freeze on the brush. I filled my water cup with vodka, which kept it flowing.