Painting 'En Plein Mer'

Date: 26 July 2026

Location: Port La Napoule, French Riviera

Latitude: 43° 31' 30.7" N

Longitude: 6° 56' 48.4" E 

 

The Art of the Floating Billboard

One of the perils of berthing a beautiful Fairline motorboat in a Mediterranean marina is that many of the people passing by love to peer in to catch a glimpse of what life looks like inside. While I don’t mind being watched at work at my easel, there are moments when a little bit of privacy is preferable to being a live exhibit. Better to let people imagine the glamour of onboard life than see the reality of us lying on the sofa at the end of a day’s cruising, binge-watching the latest Netflix drama.

So, when I suggested that we might put a privacy screen over the large glass doors, I was deeply flattered when my husband suggested blowing up one of my paintings to do the job. It has the added advantage of turning our Fairline into a huge floating billboard and a magnificent conversation starter with curious passers-by. 

While we were berthed up in La Napoule yesterday (just outside Cannes), a lovely couple walking along the dock stopped dead in their tracks to appreciate the boat and study the doors. Hearing them admiring the artwork, my husband called me up from below. Never one to miss an opportunity, I grabbed a postcard of one of my paintings and scooted off down the dock in hot pursuit. Hopping over cleats and dodging trailing ropes, I shouted ‘Attendez’ and waived the postcard high in the air.

Once they had ascertained that I wasn’t a mad woman trying to hijack the crates of beer they were carrying, it dawned on them why I was pursuing them. Grateful for the card, they struck up a conversation. It turned out they owned a sailboat nearby in the marina, and before I knew it, they asked if they could commission a painting of La Napoule, as it held many happy memories for them. Of course, I gave a resounding ‘Oui!’

Doing a little happy dance back down the dock, I broke the news to my husband and explained that our afternoon would to need to be spent anchored out in the bay. I needed a prime painting spot to capture the marina, the beach and the spectacular Château de la Napoule - a medieval fortress fittingly transformed in the Roaring Twenties into a fairytale sanctuary dedicated to art.

 

Anchor Chains and Unskilled Apprentices

That was how we found ourselves tucked into a quiet corner of the Bay of Cannes, the late afternoon light turning the Chateau a deep, burnt umber. It was the kind of light that moves with alarming speed, shifting from warm gold to soft apricot in a matter of minutes.

While the bay looked like a painting come to life, getting everything aligned for my workspace is always its own minor adventure. I gathered my water jars, taped down my heavy-grade paper, and carefully laid out my palette. I was determined to capture the vibrant, architecture of the waterfront before the sun set and to add in my brightly coloured little boats bobbing neatly in the marina.

With everything finally in place, I took a deep breath, dipped my brush, and prepared to find my creative focus.

Then, the captain had an idea.

As it turns out, while I was visualising gentle washes of cerulean blue, my husband had noticed a few stubborn little twists in our anchor chain. Seeing the calm conditions of the French coast, he decided this peaceful interlude was, in fact, the ultimate golden opportunity to drop the entire anchor, let out the chain, and work the twists out.

Anyone who has spent time afloat knows that "working out a few twists" is rarely a quiet affair. Suddenly, the tranquil silence of the bay was replaced by the thunderous metal clack-clack-clack of the windlass vibrating through the hull. The boat shifted, the chain groaned, and my husband went into full problem-solving mode. My peaceful painting session instantly transformed into a masterclass in artistic resilience.

To make matters slightly more complicated, a captain in the middle of a mechanical battle requires a reliable first mate - or at the very least, a competent tool runner. Every few minutes, his voice would drift up to the flybridge, calling out for a specific implement to aid his quest.

Now, I can mix the perfect shade of ultramarine blue from memory, but ask me to distinguish a socket wrench from a spanner under pressure, and I fail miserably. My frantic searches through the toolbox yielded absolutely nothing of practical value, cutting my career as a mechanic's assistant mercifully short and allowing me to go back to my painting.

 

When Art Meets Physics

Alas, the true drama of the day was yet to unfold.

In the frantic to-and-fro of our chaotic tool hunt, the heavy glass doors to the saloon - the ones emblazoned with my artwork - had been inadvertently left wide open and unlatched.

Just as I was attempting to render a delicate palm tree on the shoreline, a passing motor yacht roared past us at a speed far too high for the anchorage. The resulting wake hit us broadside. Beneath the deck, our Seakeeper stabiliser hummed to life, spinning furiously to fight the physics of the swell. It saved my half-finished painting from flying unceremoniously overboard, but even the best stabilisation or highest level of boat construction cannot stop the laws of momentum when a heavy door has been left wide open at sea.

Suddenly, an ominous SLAM echoed from the deck below.

We locked eyes in sheer panic and scrambled down the aft deck, only to find a scene of absolute drama: the massive glass saloon doors had violently jumped their tracks - taking half of my artwork down with them.

Painting time was officially over. We immediately pulled up the still twisted anchor chain and made a hasty retreat back into La Napoule marina.

Instead of the romantic dinner we had planned at one of the delightful restaurants in the port, we spent the rest of the evening in a tense battle with sliding runners, heavy glass, and re-attachment brackets. Marital harmony was sorely tested by grease, sweat, and engineering panic.

Fortunately, with my husband’s incredible technical expertise - and the reassuring knowledge that Fairline’s heavy-duty engineering and Osmotech’s Seakeeper support mean everything onboard is built to withstand far worse - we finally managed to coax the door back onto its runners. And to my immense relief, both the heavy glass and my artwork emerged entirely intact.

By the time the sun finally set over the marina, the saloon door was secure, and we could finally laugh about the absurdity of the afternoon. I will need to wait for another day to finish the painting, but that’s the fun of a floating studio.

When I finally do complete the piece, I won't just see the vibrant buildings or the colourful hulls reflecting in the water, I will see a story of rogue wakes, flying doors, a spectacular failure of a first mate, and the unpredictable, never-boring reality of living and creating on the water.