Colin McNair "Ar' She Blows" Sperm Whale Weathervane
Spanish cedar, brass, lead, bone, and oil paint35 in. longSperm Whale Weathervane at Sea is a new and fully functional design from the Kingston, Massachusetts studio of Colin McNair, the youngest member of the McNair carving family. Beyond the standard vane's pivot in the wind, the pectoral fins are left loose on brass fasteners to flutter in a gale, doubling as anemometers that indicate wind strength.Bone teeth line the jaw, which is joined to the head by a brass rod and a custom brass screw. Where a living sperm whale carries spermaceti oil in its head, this sculpture carries lead. Poured into a concealed cavity, the lead acts as a balance to allow for responsiveness to a light breeze. The whole work is carved from a single plank of Spanish cedar, with an incised eye and a tail finished on both sides, providing alternate views from the port and starboard.Despite their immense size, among the largest animals ever to have lived, and their need to surface for air, sperm whales remain quite mysterious. Most of their time is spent beyond the reach of humans in the black of the ocean where they battle literal sea monsters. The Colossal and Giant squid, measuring up to 50 feet and 2,000 pounds. Given their long history with humans, it is fortunate that these whales remain at all; international protections on commercial whaling have been in place since around the time of the artist�s birth."I was up in the rigging of Alliance,� writes McNair �a beautiful three-masted gaff-rig schooner, a tall ship. We were delivering her from Cape Charles, Virginia, to the Virgin Islands during college winter break around 2005. After a memorable North Atlantic storm, we were now gliding through warming, glassy swells somewhere over the Puerto Rican Trench, an ocean feature that could hide the Rocky Mountains.�Captain Lohse allowed us a �swim call,� and I found myself up in the rigging to broaden my horizons. Spouts of mist to the north produced an involuntary 'Ar she blows!' that stumbled awkwardly from my grinning lips. There were whales approaching, gliding gracefully beneath the blue, almost as if they swam in slow motion. I raced down the ratlines and stretched on a snorkel mask as they neared. Masked and eager to live out one of my dreams, my body splashed somewhere off the edge of the 80-foot deck. I'd never been so close to a leviathan. As I swam toward where I thought they'd be, there was little to see but the deepest blue. Maybe I caught a glimpse of them underwater; I'd like to think so, but I doubt it. They were gone, swimming far more swiftly than I had understood from the ship. That's what a whale usually looks like: both huge and nearly invisible in their crystal blue water. I'm still not sure what made me feel smaller, getting buzzed by those giants or peering down into five miles of brine. Filled with fading adrenaline, frustration, and awe, I swam back to the boat in defeat.�That's the kind of whale I wanted to paint here. Not a greasy whaler's whale, illustration from a book, or a video clip from a commercial. I wanted to create the whale I had missed that day on the sailboat; an elegant and elusive giant in his element, cruising through the deep blue.� - Lot 3