West Mersa 1924

Curator: Oh, that is subtle, isn't it? Look at "West Mersa" from 1924 by James McBey. It’s watercolor, capturing a slice of stillness. What hits you first? Editor: That sky! It feels almost Turner-esque, the way the colours bleed into one another, yet everything seems incredibly quiet, doesn’t it? An eerie, rosy peace. Curator: Absolutely. McBey's landscapes often evoke a sense of tranquil observation. He was quite the traveller, working en plein air in Europe and North Africa. It is interesting to see him turn his eye towards…this place. Mersa. Makes me wonder what stories these boats hold, resting there in the mud. Editor: They’re utterly marooned, aren’t they? Caught between tides, belonging nowhere, yet mirroring the vast sky above them. What’s also intriguing is the artist's choice of watercolour. The whole thing feels transient, a fleeting moment perfectly captured. And the politics of place…this image comes at a particular moment in the colonial project. How are we to view that framing within these soft colours? Curator: Exactly, that is such a sharp take! The use of watercolour lends itself so well to the ethereal feeling. It’s like trying to grasp something that’s already fading. And these plein air techniques were being embraced…in complex contexts of movement and representation. There’s a tension there that speaks volumes about our relationship to land, sea, and belonging. A moment of reflection, maybe. Editor: Indeed. Looking at McBey now, knowing how the art market embraced such views of landscapes across colonial spaces…one begins to wonder, as ever, about access, about who has the ability to pause and reflect. Curator: Food for thought, really! This piece pulls you into a reverie, even as it prompts larger questions about art's role in observing and shaping the world. Editor: Well said. A painting that keeps giving, wouldn't you say?