Saved by the Sea
I’m sitting in my studio, painting a hake while listening to Clair de Lune, by Claude Debussy. It’s a tender, sweeping piece that gently gathers momentum as it flows towards the main refrain, then slowly retreats to deposit the listener back to the beginning. With every swell of the piano I can feel the sway and shift of water.
And it takes me back to being perhaps no more than 13 years old and feeling more than a little awkward with the changes that were rewiring my body as I moved towards the spring board into adulthood. The ensuing few years were fairly mundane, punctuated by torturous bouts of self loathing and a deep fear of being discovered to be a fairly ghastly pubescent young woman.
We lived in Cornwall, near the coast and with both my parents busy keeping the electric meter fed, and the cupboard full of food, they had little time and energy left to take my brother and I to the beach. But every school holiday aunties and uncles would descend to stay near by and from then on I would be able to get lifts to the beach. And so much of my Summers were spent armed with a towel and a swimming costume hopping in and out of cars, and in and out of the sea. As that awkward teenager, brimming with insecurities, I didn’t much like sunbathing, but being in the sea, in her cool embrace I felt reborn as something far more agile and at ease. I felt loved. I would stay in the water for literally hours at a time, just paddling about, diving under, propelling myself beneath the waves; bobbing up to wipe away the curtain of hair and, treading water, stare back at the beach.
The water was, I think, my lifesaver. It brought me JOY.
Up until very recently, I’d almost completely forgotten this nigh on magnetic pull that the sea had for me. Sure, I’ve swam in the sea since then, but with only the brief window of opportunity that a holiday might offer, and to be honest I didn’t connect with it in the same way. That was until after more than thirty years of living in landlocked Sussex, we moved to South Devon and just a short drive from the tree banked coast line that dips its toes into the English Channel.
I have always been intrigued by the idea of sea swimming through the seasons, the bracingly brave and ever so slightly bonkers pursuit of wading in and voluntarily fully immersing ones body, wearing little more than your swimming costume. Having this stretch of water so tantalisingly close, it felt very much a now or never moment in my life.
Within days of arriving, and midst mountains of boxes to be unpacked, I began to make regular trips to the beach to dip among the salty swell. And every time the breath came easier, no longer the startled, reflexive lock of my diaphragm.
And today, as I listen to this piece of music, and plan my escape to the sea tomorrow, it’s occurred to me that I’ve rediscovered a part of my childhood, one that gave me such calm and peace of mind. And in doing so, I’ve reclaimed a piece of me.
This makes me ridiculously happy.
But how timely too, since once again I’m embarking on another significant phase of my life, one where the body is busy shutting shop on the productive years of fertility, and motherhood. It’s quite the trip too, with many subtle changes, and some more like the aftermath of a wrecking ball assault.
So here I am again, once more being saved by the sea.
Anna Koska
Food and Natural History Illustrator
https://www.meiklejohn.co.uk/artist/Anna_Koska_MJN
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