It was the spring of 1967. One of the things that brought Judy and me together and cemented our relationship was our love for adventure. So, on the day we were married, we packed what little we owned into a '65 Mustang and left Indiana for the West Coast. Our final destination was Hawaii, and we planned to ship our car from San Diego. Hawaii, could there be a better place to start our lives together? We were 22, armed with BS degrees, and had no jobs, no mortgage, and no major life goals. It was a perfect time to be a free spirit. This spring, 50 years later, we traveled back to the island paradise to relive the early days of our marriage and celebrate our memories.
Judy and Ken Wallin
Judy and I toasted each other and boarded a plane to Honolulu in May. During the fifty years we have been married, we have traveled to lots of exotic locations, but we've never gone back to Hawaii. The long flight gave us lots of time to reflect on our journey many years ago as young newlyweds. Just getting to the West Coast had been a honeymoon adventure. We managed to survive a near disaster of careening off a snow-covered cliff in Colorado. A couple of days later, thieves in Las Vegas broke into our car and stole our stereo and LP's, but they left our wedding gifts, sterling silver, and my oil paints. Finally, when we made it to the docks at San Diego to ship our car, we encountered a dock master who thought we were runaways and counseled us to go home. Barely in our twenties, we saw ourselves as daring to venture so far from home without knowing anyone or having any support except each other. (Phone calls from Hawaii were completely cost prohibitive and mail took more than a week.) When we finally landed in Honolulu, were nearly overcome with both excitement and fear, and our heads were filled with questions like, "Where would we stay?" "What if we got sick? " "What will we do for food and clothing?" We had a suitcase with basic necessities, but it would be a month before our car would arrive and our budget was tight.
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As we neared Oahu on our return trip, our plane passed over the familiar blue water and sandy beaches we had frequented so many years ago. I imagined Judy and me following the winding coastline on our Honda 50 in search of deserted beaches and surf to paint. The Honda scooter was our first purchase as a couple and our only mode of transportation for several weeks while we waited for our car to arrive. We would scrunch onto the scooter and carefully balance our load of snorkeling gear, easel and paints in search of subject matter.
This time around everything was prearranged via the internet, unlike before when all was left to chance. We fittingly reserved a Mustang convertible, and our 70+ bodies made the trek from the airport to the waterfront resort we had talked about for the last five decades. The Royal Hawaiian is a glamorous old hotel on Waikiki Beach and only a few blocks from where we used to live. Travel for us has changed over the years as we evolved from roving, free-spirited kids who were happy to just have a place to rest our head, to seniors seeking comfort and amenities. Honolulu had changed too. Once a surfing neighborhood with snow cone stands and t-shirt shops, Waikiki is now an upscale shopping area with the likes of Tiffanys, Saks, and Louis Vuitton.
Soon after we unpacked, we set out to find that little apartment we had rented on the Ali-Wai Canal so many years ago. Not surprisingly, our little bungalow was replaced with a modern high rise. We used to grill just outside our front door, Judy in her mumu and me in cutoffs, our standard uniform of the island. We made a happy home in that tiny apartment, and I was even able to carve out a corner where I could paint.
The beach looked much the same now as then, populated with surfer wannabees, bikini clad teens and lots of families. It was easy for us to just plop down on a towel and let our memories transport us back. As newlyweds, we just had each other and time – time to walk the beaches, listen to each other's stories, and get to know each other. The beach was both mesmerizing and cathartic, and we would walk for hours and talk about our families, our work experiences, and school. It was clear to us then that we would always want to live near the ocean.
Then, as now, the clear blue water and pounding surf played a major role in many of my paintings. As my art has evolved over the years, I have learned that my goal is not to capture a photographic image of a subject but to portray the feeling and imagery that is within me on to the canvas. The desired result is not a replication but more of an interpretation of waves, ripples in the water, or splashes over the rocks. So it is with my journey back to Hawaii with these new eyes: to see and feel, not to copy. This time, as Judy and I strolled the beaches, I saw the water from a different perspective. No longer was I caught up in the shape of the curl of a wave or the structure of the foam. Instead, I notice the dynamic shades of blue, the movement of the water and how the foam casts exciting shapes each time it hits the sand. These are the mental images I brought back to my studio on St. Simons to experiment with on canvas.
Most of our recent time on Oahu was spent making comparisons of then to now. Hanauma Bay is where we first learned to snorkel. Fifty years ago, we could drive right down to the bay and enjoy the coral reef with a few dozen other snorkelers; today it is a nature preserve visited by more than 3000 people a day. The North Shore was as beautiful and the waves as powerful as we remembered. Now lots of food trucks line that remote highway with tourists seeking meals they have seen on the Food Network. One thing, however, had not changed in all those years: the hospitable nature of the Hawaiian people. Everywhere we went, we met the kindest, nicest people who embodied the Aloha spirit.
After Oahu, it was off to visit Maui. Maui was a new destination for us, and once again a chance to make more memories and get to know each other a little better…after fifty years.
Ken Wallin’s work is on display at Parker Gallery, 600 Sea Island Road, Suite 9B, 912.638.2141.
