Zen and the Art of Boat Maintenance

If I am totally honest with myself I am not really a creator of art. I can appreciate art and I can even write erudite pieces on it, but I would describe myself as aesthetically challenged.

I was once on a course at work which was self-awareness and mindfulness. I sat amongst very earnest people who were convinced that absorbing this stuff would assist them in their careers. I'm sure it does, but it had bugger all effect on me. The instructor, Jack Black (not the musician), went through various techniques, including a "Mind Palace" type thing, and it was all very rewarding I am sure. But, it washed off my hardened Scottish mindset like water off a duck's back. He told us, "You know how your car feels faster after you have washed it...", to which the audience all agreed. Except me. I am an engineer, the addition of filth to your car makes such a minor change in forward velocity that it would be imperceptible, so my car does not feel faster after I wash it. I felt very out of place at that point, everyone else was agreeing and nodding on cue and I was feeling more and more displaced.

So, it was not at all on my task list to polish the external brass on my boat - up until now I really did not see the point. However, I did feel a certain amount of pride when I polished the socket for the autohelm and I also like the way the new wood looks for the block that holds it. As I was at a loose end I decided to put a pot of Brasso in my pannier and cycle down to my boat after work had finished.

I rubbed some on and started the small circular motions that is usually required for this stuff. As I carefully worked away I was reminded of my mother circa 1979, gathering the house's brass ornaments and placing them on the kitchen table. She would methodically work her way through them, taking the mildly tarnished objects and making them gleam. As a child I did not see the point, surely they would just tarnish again? However what I realise now, some forty years later, that it was the process that was rewarding - the polished objects were just a pleasant side effect.

The Brasso turned black and the filth mobilised, at first there appeared to be no positive effect, yet I persisted and a little glimmer of brightness appeared through the murk. I chased that glimmer round the object and in a miraculous transformation as I wiped away the grime a beautiful brass plate was revealed. Possibly the first time in over a decade that the objects have had a chance to shine.

This is a significant stage for me because I now feel like I have crossed a financial threshold, the money I am putting into this restoration is now being repaid in value. For every few pounds I spend on her I am gaining more pounds in worth - when I come to sell this boat, the recipient will pay reasonable money but will receive a good boat in return. Arguably my slow methodical efforts are enriching the world as a whole, creating value where there was rot, creating an object of desire and satisfaction where there was scrap.

I went over each side a second time, smearing on the Brasso, working it over the surface, small circular motions like my mother did all those years before. Wiping of the excess then polishing over with a dry cloth. Each cycle producing an ever brighter and more beautiful result. I repeated another time, just because I was enjoying the Zen moment of my actions. Perhaps it was the moment of meditation, perhaps it was the fumes from the Brasso, but either way I was very happy with the result.

I took the chance to show my mother these pictures and told her about how I watched her in the 70's doing this stuff. I told her how I finally 'got it' and appreciated how she drew satisfaction from the repetitive task. Her response...
"Goodness me no, it was nothing like that, I just did it to get peace from you and your brother, you were both little shits!"

Happy sailing my friends, may you find your Zen moment where you can. In the meantime, who would like to hazard a guess at what the brass plates are for on my boat?

@knot