Pebble and the Nubble Lighthouse

Medium: Ink and graphite on Arches paper, mounted to birch panel, varnished

Dimensions: 10" x 8"

Long Island, New York

The Story:
Pebble was tired. He was tired of constantly swimming against the current, constantly fighting against the ebb and flow of the tides. He just wanted a place to rest, a place to feel safe. So occasionally, when the fog was thick enough that he was confident no humans would see him, he would inch his way onto the Nubble Island and rest, leaning against the lighthouse and the keeper’s home.
Randy had been an architectural expert for many years. His contracting jobs always led to shining reviews, and he was known around town for doing the most exquisite and detailed work. This was why his latest job troubled him so much. He had been back to the site five times in the past month, each visit spurred on by a call from the island’s lightkeeper.
“It just doesn't make any sense,” Randy said to his son, who he had brought along on this sixth visit to the island. “The structure itself is so sound, the place has excellent bones, it doesn’t make sense that it keeps getting damaged like this.”
“Bones?” his son asked, looking up at his father.
“Every house has bones, like people do. If the bones are bad, everything else will eventually become bad too. That's the thing: this house is so structurally sound every time I inspect it. But without fail it ends up slanted only a few days later, as if something leaned against it from the outside and pushed it over.”
He shook his head as he spoke, staring at the leftward-leaning ceiling. From the outside, the home looked almost okay, except for one side that seemed to slightly lean into itself, and with time he felt that if it went on unaddressed it could cave in. So again, for a sixth time, he fixed it, his son watching closely as he worked. They left the property, and mounted the small boat that would take them back across the water to the mainland.
“How did you get to be so good at fixing things?” his son asked as they crept through the fog that was growing around their boat.
“Practice. I have spent almost every day of my life fixing things. I think it's the only way to really perfect any craft, with practice.”
“Can I come with you again if you have to fix the lightkeeper’s home?” his son asked with excitement, wanting to learn from his father’s ways and start honing his own skills.
“Of course you can, but really I don't think there will be a next time. I don't know why it keeps happening, maybe there was a shift in the island’s foundation or something that keeps causing it, but I can't imagine it will just keep happening. That house is as sturdy a structure as I’ve ever seen.”
While his father was saying this, the boy was staring off into the fog behind them, stunned into silence by the sight he saw. His father was facing forward to steer, so he knew he was alone in witnessing this surreal site. The boy sat stunned as a huge shark wormed its way up on the island, leaning into the house.
“But dad, if there is a next time and you have to fix it again, I can come, right?” he asked, still staring as the island disappeared into the thickening fog. His dad laughed and put an arm over the boy’s shoulder.
“Of course you can, son. But don’t get your hopes up. Those bones are just too strong.”