ART UNDER SEA

Evening Star, Issue 20984, 24 December 1931, Page 1

ART UNDER SEA

WHERE A PAINTER WORKS SPORT WITH SHARKS A mile out to sea, beyond the cream* ing surf of tiie dangerous barrier reef at Honolulu, a tiny boat is anchored, and there is no one aboard.Inside the boat a motor is working steadily, and a long, narrow pipe leads from its side to the handrail, and from there snakes down to the darkened depths of the sea. Were you to follow, that-line of piping to its destination, you would in all probability be soundly rated for disturbing Mr Edgar Chevcrlange, the famous French- painter, at his work among the sharks. Fifty feet below the surface of tho South Seas, clad only in a pair of bathing trunks and heavy shoes, this artist sits at his easel and executes beautiful scenes of underwater life that have brought him fame. There is no need • for a paint-smeared smock in Cheverlange’s queer undersea studio, for paint is not likely to drop. All the same, the artist’s dress is strange. ’ Besides his pair of bathing trunks he ’.vears heavy shoes soled with leaden weights to prevent him from floating to the surface. In order that he shall not breathe in wafer through his nose lie clamps to that organ an ordinary clothes peg! , Over his mouth is fitted the rubber pipe which connects with'tho air pump in the well of his little motor boat.Goggles clamped to his eyes keep the water from troubling him, and also help to clarify the scene around him. THRILLS OF DESCENT. The easel he uses is a thin strip of copper, on which has been smeared very glutinous oil paint. On to this the artist etches his pictures with a metal stylus. With this equipment and a heavy harpoon to protect him from the sharks, cuttle fish, and poisonous inhabitants of these strange seas, Edgar Cheverlange sets out cheerfully alone in his little motor boat.. Once well out to sea, ho coils the length of air piping over his shoulder, sets-the pump going, and leaps overhoard, paying out the pipeline as he goes down. “ My journey down,” said the artist, “must be something very like the descent of a parachute jumper from an aeroplane, except that my landing is not half so bumpy.” It has been an exceptionally barren sort of day for Mr Cheverlange if a shark or cuttle fish does not brush past his body and snuffle curiously at his easel. Small fish equipped with poisonous ejectors often attack his chest and arms, and so quick are these fish at darting in, doing their damage, and darting away a.-riiu, iha-.-V. is i-j.'-q that tho artist has June Lra.ve himself from a painful sting. “ Occasionally, yes, I do got the great thrill. Generally I can avoid trouble with the big sharks and devil fish by sitting perfectly still when they pass' me. Through my: goggles I can see them approaching 30ft away, and immediately I sit back and relax. “ The cuttle fish, perhaps, will come curiously towards my rock and coil his long tentacles idly round my legs or upset my easel. Were I to move them ” —Mr Cheverlange shrugged his shoulders, HENPECKED!, “Sometimes I am attacked. Old Man Shark, perhaps, has been henpecked by his wife, and the first object he? sees is the recipient of . his childish anger. Sometimes the recipient is myself. “I can generally sense tho temper of the giant fish by the way in which they swim towards me. Should this Old Man Shark dash blindly up to the rock, then I drop my easel and pull out the sharp little harpoon I carry. “No, no! M’sieur! I do not attack this ratty old fish. I simply wai'd off the lunges he makes as I slip off my heavy hoots and shoot up to the surface of the water. Occasionally I have been lucky enough to score a direct hit—more by 1 luck than anything else —and the shark' lias floated with me to the surface—dead. Then I have a nice shark skin and a new trophy head to exhibit in my little bungalow at the foot of the mountains of Tahiti!”