Let Me Tell You A Story

Ophelia Smith lived all her life in Seymour’s, Long Island, Bahamas. I first met her in 1997, and by 2005 I was painting her almost exclusively. It was impossible not to get swept away by her, a woman of humble origins with a spirit as vibrant as the colours she adorned herself with. Despite the challenges of raising ten children in her modest abode, Ophelia exuded undeniable strength and grace.

 From our first encounter, Ophelia’s welcoming voice continued to echo in my mind, urging me to join her in her world of wonder. “Come, come!” she’d call out. And so began a journey and friendship spanning more than twenty years of my painting career. A journey illuminated by the presence of this remarkable woman. She always dressed with such natural elegance; an oversized white men’s shirt, colourful flowing skirt and headscarf cascading down her long, sinewy neck. Standing in her yard with her inseparable machete draped around her shoulders, like it was a part of her, or her crab basket hanging off her shoulder like a precious jewel. These were the images I wanted to record on paper. It wasn’t her outward appearance that captivated me; it was the depth of her character, the unwavering resilience she carried within her.

 The more time we spent together, the more comfortable we were in each other’s company. I felt such pride in being accepted by Ophelia, and she felt so relaxed sharing her daily life with me. We spent many afternoons seated in her small living room, where she told countless stories while threshing the corn. I marvelled at her connection to the land and the sea, her hands working in harmony with nature’s rhythms. But above all, it was Ophelia’s spirit that left an indelible mark on me; she was a force of nature and a beacon of light. She took me on countless adventures, crabbing through the bush and digging for local sweet potatoes planted throughout the rocks on her farm, only accessible by boat across the bay. She was the sole master of her tiny white wooden craft operated by a long wooden oar.

 As the years passed, I grew accustomed to Ophelia’s presence, her laughter becoming the soundtrack of my days. In the back of my mind, I always assumed she would be there forever, a constant in the ever-changing landscape of my life. After all, she was always a pillar of strength in a world fraught with uncertainty, but it seems life has a way of reminding us of our fragility. In July 2016 Ophelia was gone, her absence leaving a void that could never be filled. In her passing, I lost not only a muse, a source of inspiration that fueled my creativity for more than two decades, but a dear friend. Her spirit, laughter and strength are woven into the very fabric of my art, a testament to the profound impact she had on my life.