New Commission

Untitled, 12.5" x 12.5", Acrylic and Mixed on Panel, Erik Abel 2010

FLUIR Magazine Feature :: Oct 2010 Issue

Just got a hefty envelope in the mail today and it turned out to be a few copies of this months issue of FLUIR, a top Brazilian surf rag.  I was asked to contribute a few images for this issues artist section.  Stoked...

A worthy way to die...

As a surfer, hearing about a deadly shark attack (Last week on the Central Coast) strikes a certain chord in my soul.  No surfer alive hasn't been spooked at the thought of being fish food at one time or another. 

During my years exploring the Oregon coast, I came to the conclusion that being attacked by a shark is a worthy way to die.  Maybe it was just a way to reassure myself on those freezing, grey, murky days when I was wishing there was just one other person in the line-up to give me at least a 50% chance of not being dinner for Jaws. Or maybe I was on to something.  Being eaten by one of natures most evolved and powerful predators should be an honor.  Sure, you'd probably shit your wetsuit, scream like a 10 year old girl and go into shock before you knew what happened, but it sure beats having some knucklehead swerve into you head-on while he's sending some lame text to his girlfriend.  Or having a bus run you over while enjoying a stroll with your morning coffee.  Or even getting hit in the head by your board and drowning.

I'd rather come face to face with Mr. White and go down fighting in a pool of my own blood than die in some drunken trip down a stairwell any day.  It's the ultimate way to go for someone who uses the ocean to fulfill their passion.  I think it's a fair trade.  There's nothing wrong with dying while doing what you love.  The lifestyle of surfing is worth the risk... it's worth dying for.  So when I hear of a surfer dying in a shark attack, I think they should be honored as a sacrifice to the surf gods.

The Dark Side of The Lens

Whoa!  Amazing visuals and inspiring words...

Words of Wisdom:

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.  Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime."  -Mark Twain

Sailing Fiji, Vanuatu and into the unknown

 

Plans made.  Flight purchased.  Butterflies in the stomach.  Excitement in the air.  I'm off to join the Nola for another South Pacific surfing/sailing voyage!  Length of journey and final destination unknown.  The feeling I have right now is as good as it gets... this is what gets me amped, this shit right here, making big life-altering decisions in the blink of an eye, just going for it!  Life is getting shorter every day, gotta take advantage of the time left.

 

A tattoo on my shin says: Abenteuerlust, which, in German, means spirit of adventure, similar to the more common term: Wanderlust, the urge or desire to wander.

This ideology has got it's roots firmly planted in my mind.  I have trouble staying in any one place for long periods of time.  Unsettled restlessness.  My soul needs to see new things, meet new people, just experience newness... and there's a calling for me to be somewhere other than the place I ever am, but at the same time I crave security, organization and a place to call home where I can put down roots.  I enjoy feeling settled... for a while, then I get the itch.  There's always an internal conflict going on.  It's a vicious but enlightening cycle of madness.  The little Devil on one shoulder is yelling at me, saying screw it and go, move, travel, seek, explore, fly by the seat of your pants and create the adventure of your life and never look back.  The little Angel on the other is whispering things about keeping momentum in my career, planning ahead, getting in a comfortable routine and settling down in one spot for more than 6 months.  It's way more fun to listen to the little Devil but as with all things in life, I have realized there has to be a balance.  A Yin and a Yang.  So, I figure I might as well go party with the Devil for a while until the Angel speaks up a bit louder.  But then again... is the Devil really the Angel?

And with a little irony, I leave to join the Nola on the exact same day, one year ago, where I stepped foot back onto good ol' New Zealand soil after being stuck at sea for 20 days in The Crossing from Hell.  And as I write this, a year ago, I was probably saying goodbye to Nola and her crew in Tonga for what I thought might be the last time as I boarded the French vessel bound for NZ.  But... life is full of pleasant surprises.  Nola (and Cloud Break) here I come!!!