There’s more art than people realize around the island. Christa Terry
Bermuda is not what you think it is. But first, let’s clear up where it is. For all its postcard-perfect pink sand beaches, palm trees and turquoise waters, the archipelago is nowhere near the Caribbean. Bermuda is actually in the North Atlantic, 665 miles east-southeast of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina. The Gulf Stream gives Bermuda a pleasant subtropical climate, and flights from New York City get you there in under two hours—quicker than most people’s commute to the Hamptons.
For all the space it takes up in our cultural consciousness—the Triangle, Shakespeare’s “still-vex’d Bermoothes,” the island’s reputation as a billionaire’s playground, the eponymous shorts—Bermuda is tiny. Its 181 islands add up to just 21 square miles of dry land surrounded by the Sargasso Sea. Driving from one end to the other takes about an hour, but don’t expect to do it in a rental car. Tourists are banned from driving full-size vehicles, so you’ll be navigating on a scooter or zipping around in a Twizy, a tiny two-seater electric car that can look equal parts spacy and silly.
This is the kind of thing people complain about on TripAdvisor, alongside gripes about there being “nothing to do” in Bermuda. That says far more about the complainers than it does about the island. There are two kinds of travelers: those who expect their destinations to be a ready-made amusement park, and those who want to experience a place for what it truly is. Bermuda doesn’t scream “globetrotting cultural hotspot” in the way some destinations do—it’s a favorite for cruise-goers, and if your wallet’s thick enough, you can have the most curated Bermuda experience money can buy. But for those willing to scratch beneath the manicured surface, Bermuda reveals itself as a vibrant, surprisingly artsy destination brimming with abundant possibilities for the curious traveler.
By all means, do the touristy things. Tour the Crystal and Fantasy Caves and marvel at their otherworldly stalactites. Lounge on the pink sands of Horseshoe Bay and Elbow Beach. Hop on a catamaran and circle the islands, wind in your hair and salt spray in your face. Snap a selfie at the official Bermuda Triangle marker and enjoy the thrill of pretending you might vanish. Eat a spiny lobster—it’s the kind of indulgence you won’t regret. Drink a Rum Swizzle everywhere you go. (The origin story involving a literal washing machine is too good not to toast to.) And once you’ve done all of that and spent an obscene number of hours in your hotel’s infinity pool, it’s time to switch gears, book a tour with Kristin White and discover a Bermuda most tourists never bother to see—exactly what I set out to do when I landed at L.F. Wade International Airport at the start of the off-season.
I’m here for Bermuda Art Month, an initiative launched a year ago by the Bermuda Tourism Authority, to learn more about its art scene. What I learn is that it’s complicated. In many ways, the obstacles faced by Bermuda’s artists mirror those of creators in any small or isolated community. The infrastructure to support and elevate contemporary artists—things like studio space, galleries with serious reach and networks that connect artists to collectors and institutions—is frustratingly lacking. Many feel that leaving the island is the only way to make a name for themselves. And then beyond those challenges lies a deeper issue: a legacy of systemic racism and cultural erasure that often still sees works by outsiders given pride of place over those created by Bermudians who have shaped the island’s culture for generations.
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Discussions about Bermuda’s art often center on how its lush flora, vibrant fauna, and striking people have inspired outsiders. The island has long been a muse for foreign artists, both historical and modern: Georgia O’Keeffe, Winslow Homer, Niles Spencer, E. Ambrose Webster, Andrew Wyeth—the list reads like a roll call of art royalty. Bermuda offered them refuge, a retreat from the cold, from urban chaos, from war, even from their own minds. Marsden Hartley, after one visit, called it a place “to hide and hush.”
But I’m not here to hide and hush, nor am I here to retrace the steps of visiting luminaries who came, saw, sketched and left. I’m here to find the real artists of Bermuda—the ones who stayed.
Day 0
I arrive early in the day, charmed by Bermuda before the plane’s wheels even graze the runway. We skim past rows of coral that cut dark green streaks through the blue below before dipping low over the turquoise waters of Ruth’s Bay, then Annie’s Bay, to land on the island’s single runway. Customs is a breeze—except for one mortifying moment when I confidently tell the agent I’m staying at “the Pink Princess” instead of the Hamilton Princess & Beach Club. Faux pas handled, I find my driver, Zita, who is about to become the unwilling star of my twenty-minute interrogation about all things Bermuda. As we zip toward the hotel, I steal glances at the scenery, deciding Bermuda looks like the lovechild of Pacific Costa Rica and St. Augustine, Florida.
Waiting for check-in time, I explore the hotel. The Hamilton Princess feels massive, which is fine by me as I’ve just sat in a plane and then a hired car and I’m anxious to move. But I’m also afraid I’ll get lost so I end up making awkward circles that seem to always lead me back to the Duchess Café. I admire the pastries and the cookies and buy a latte, which warms up quickly as I venture outside to take the requisite photo of the pink telephone booth installed there to generate buzz (#BermudaIsCalling) by marketing firm Persephone Social. I also take photos of the nineteen-foot-tall KAWS Companion sculpture, At This Time, and the Yayoi Kusama pumpkin nearby in the grass.
The Hamilton Princess is a five-star luxury property that doubles, unofficially, as a contemporary art gallery, hosting pieces from the vast art holdings of Peter Green and family. There’s a Picasso next to the ATM. Works by Ai Weiwei, Takashi Murakami, Shepard Fairey, Jasper Johns, Jeff Koons, Tom Sachs, Robert Rauschenberg, Damien Hirst, David Hockney and many more are mounted around the property. Keep strolling and you might encounter pieces by Henri Matisse or René Magritte. There’s a set of nine Warhol Flower prints in a stairwell. There are several Invader mosaics. And the hits just keep on coming. Unlike hotels that put big-name works in the lobby and decorate the hallways less traveled with prints, the Hamilton Princess hangs museum-quality art everywhere (I use it like a breadcrumb trail when navigating the property’s labyrinthine halls).
Once I check in, Hamilton Princess PR manager Keisha Webb leads me and my group on a whirlwind tour of the collection, describing its range from Pop to post-modernism. I make a mental note to ask the concierge for the password to access the self-guided tour but promptly forget. The tour ends too soon, leaving me wishing for a more in-depth exploration—preferably with a docent to explain what I’ve undoubtedly missed. Next time?
Then it’s on to The Loren at Pink Beach for an artist talk with Claire Peverelli and Stratton Hatfield on the occasion of the opening of the exhibition “Flora in Flux: Shaping Identity” at the hotel. The exhibition captures Bermuda’s plant life in rigid casts, offering a visual metaphor for the island’s shifting demographics. “There have been so many different cultures coming here, setting foot on the island and then leaving,” Peverelli explains, “and because of that, it’s hard to conceive of a specific Bermudian identity.” It’s a poignant commentary on an island still evolving, and my first real glimpse into the complexities of Bermuda’s cultural tapestry.
Sidenote: The Loren also has a contemporary art collection, curated by advisor Penny Aaron for hotelier Stephen King, featuring works by Vik Muniz, Tony Feher, Nancy Rubins and Thomas Schütte, among others, alongside pieces by Bermudian artists like Hatfield and photographer Nhuri Bashir. Exhibitions rotate regularly in the Marée Lounge, making it a destination in its own right.
After the talk, we head upstairs to the open-air Pink Beach Club for dinner, where crashing waves and the chirping of Bermuda’s iconic singing frogs nearly drown out the music. A stunning mural, collaboratively created by visual artist Tamara Gonzales and mosaic artist Stephen Miotto, frames the setting perfectly. Over spiny lobster—recommended by Zita—the Bermuda Tourism Authority’s Kiwan Anderson shares tales of the island’s creator-driven art renaissance.
Later, back at the Hamilton Princess, I make my habitual late-night pilgrimage to the fitness center. It’s well after 10 p.m., but this gym is hands down the best hotel facility I’ve ever seen, and I’m determined to squeeze in a workout—yawns and all—before calling it a day.
Day 1
I have every intention of waking early to take a dip in the infinity pool or at least savor a hot cup of coffee in the hot tub, but the bed proves too comfortable and the night before too late. By the time I navigate the art-filled corridors to the Crown and Anchor restaurant for breakfast, it’s nearly time to head to the Masterworks Museum of Bermuda Art for a guided tour with curatorial researcher Sara Thom.
Masterworks, a 16,000-square-foot gem founded by Tom Butterfield, houses over 1,500 artworks inspired by Bermuda’s natural beauty, dating from the 1700s to today. Big names like Georgia O’Keeffe, Winslow Homer, Andrew Wyeth and Albert Gleizes headline the collection, but the real treasures are the exhibitions by local artists. We see selected works from “Descendants of Summer,” a project by Bermudian documentary photographer Nicola Muirhead, and tour “NOT ALL HAS TO BE AS IT WAS,” by Bermudian artist Gherdai Hassell, whose mixed media works explore questions of gender, identity and Bermudian heritage and are shown here in conversation with works from the Masterworks collection curated by Hassell. Speaking of the collection, if you get a chance to go down into the museum’s conservation rooms, be sure to take a peek at the art racks, which hold everything from Victorian-era landscapes and portraits to more contemporary abstract works and tourism posters.
I ask Thom about what kinds of challenges Masterworks faces, thinking about acquisitions or exhibition space (the museum is set to expand into a second building in the Botanical Gardens). As it turns out, Bermuda’s beauty is also unforgiving. “Bermuda is one of the most challenging places to house art,” she says. “It’s humid and mold grows so quickly. Collectors here are always looking for new ways to protect their art.”
We eat lunch underground at the Botanist Café, and I buy a replica Pan Am broadside before we head to the National Gallery, where the Bermuda Biennial exhibition is in full swing, along with the museum’s first-ever jewelry exhibition with works by Bermudian artist Melanie Eddy and “A Study in Light & Colour Selections from the David L. White Collection,” which brings together twenty-one impressionist works inspired by the island. But back to the Biennial, something I had no clue Bermuda had. Showcasing work by Bermudian artists on- and off-island, and this year juried by artist Ebony G. Patterson and cultural leader Helen Toomer (founder of UPSTATE ART WEEKEND, it has been running for thirty-two years.
Hassle is among the featured artists. There is also work by Jon Legere (whose work I also see en route to my room at the hotel), Jahbarri A. Wilson, Soleé Darrell, Jordan Carey and others. The theme—Places, Presence & Poetics: An Unpacking—has inspired a moving selection of works, and I’m particularly taken with two that reference Bermuda’s East kite tradition: Carey’s Going Shrew Go Shrew and Michael Walsh’s For Getting Nothing (In Response to the Poem Paper Skin by Alan C. Smith).
But as is always the case on these trips, I couldn’t give any of the works on view too long of a look because we had somewhere to be. (We do briefly stop to chat with literal town crier Ed Christopher, and I’m starting to realize that everywhere we go, our local guides seem to know just about everyone.) Bermudian historian Kristin White is taking us on a walking tour that’s ostensibly art focused but dives deep into Bermuda’s history of segregation and the impact of it on the art scene even today. There was a lot to take in, from the controversies surrounding historical and contemporary murals and monuments (including the off-the-beaten path monument to Sally Bassett by Carlos Dowling) to the ways Black artists in Bermuda are at the center of the Bermudian arts scene today. It ends with a stunning performance by singer Joy Barnum at the Bassett monument’s base, in the kind of moment that lingers long after it’s over. If you’re in Bermuda, book White’s tour—it’s essential.
After a quick stop back at the hotel, we cross the street because Bacardi Headquarters in Hamilton is session central tonight—google it—and so we head over to the Mies van der Rohe-designed building’s wide front lawn for the Art of the Pour bartending competition. I’m not sure how this relates to art, but I’m game to find out. Fifteen of the island’s bars and restaurants are here competing to see which of them makes Bermuda‘s Best Cocktail, and we visit The Loren at Pink Beach’s setup twice, not just for their dangerously sweet coconut concoction but also for the ceviche—easily the night’s best pairing.
Drinks in hand, we take a walking tour of Bacardi’s Bermudian art collection. Fun fact: the Bacardi family has been collecting art since the 1800s, which means they have a lot of it—hundreds of pieces by European and Cuban artists overseen by an in-house archivist. Some are in the company’s private museum in Coral Gables, Florida, but some are here. Enough that the company sometimes partners with the National Gallery on exhibitions. I see works by Joan Miró and other notable names, but then I forget most of them because we’re at a cocktail competition.
At this point, pizza is the only art I care about, and our next stop, Clarabelle’s Bermuda, is practically next door. I devour a Truffle Cream with pancetta—every bite is worth the calories—and mourn the lack of room for dessert. Back at the hotel, I haul myself to the fitness center for another late-night workout, this time moving at the pace of someone who has sampled too many rum cocktails and far too much pizza.
Day 2
We head to St. George’s for breakfast and another artist talk with Shanna Hollis, who chairs the Bermuda Arts Council and whose murals can be found around the island (don’t miss UnSettled Freedom in King’s Square). As I perch on the edge of the booth seat on Temptations’ deck, we’re joined again by White, as well as Hollis’ brother, the insanely talented painter Nashon Hollis. The conversation first turned to the challenge Bermudian artists face when it comes to getting work shown or funded, given that there’s often tension between the stories artists want to tell and the image Bermuda wants to project. It’s only fairly recently, says White, that Bermudians started internalizing a more accurate view of the country’s history. Thanks in part, adds Shanna, to an arts community that has opened itself up to fresh voices. Then we dive into the practical challenges—namely, the lack of artist spaces and the high cost of materials, which, like everything else here, must be shipped in.
From breakfast, we set out on a walking tour of St. George’s, wandering through historical sites like St. Peter’s Church. Even though I’m still stuffed, we soon stop for what turns out to be the best fish sandwich I’ve ever eaten. (Pro tip: Bermudian fish sandwiches are made with raisin bread. It sounds like an odd pairing, but trust me—it’s transformative.)
Next, it’s off to Cooper’s Island Nature Reserve, a former U.S. Navy base that also hosted a NASA Tracking Station. Here, we meet Doreen Williams, who leads us on a foraging tour of Bermuda’s edible wild plants and into an old munitions bunker—which is eerie and fascinating. She ends the tour at the edge of Turtle Bay beach with a feast: prickly pear salsa, pumpkin doughnuts spiced with allspice and an array of other vegan treats, all made with ingredients harvested right there on the island. Despite being at this point overly full, I manage to wrestle myself into my swimsuit in the car and take my one and only swim of the trip. The water is every bit as clear and dazzling as you’d imagine, and the beach offers a perfect snapshot of Bermuda’s natural beauty.
By now, my head is spinning thanks to too much art, too much food, too much sun and too many rum cocktails the night before. Back at the hotel, I grab an Imitrex and a shower before heading out solo and on foot for Hamilton’s City Art Tour. Hamilton is wonderfully walkable—not something that can be said of the island as a whole—and the city has installed plaques with QR codes on or near the many public artworks. There are murals everywhere, but Unnamed by Dennis Joaquin stands out, as does Victor Ving’s instagrammable Postcard. In Queen Elizabeth Park, I find a collection of sculptures, including Enzo Plazzotta’s striking Jeté. I see what I can, but time gets away from me, as it always does on trips like this.
After a farewell dinner at the acclaimed Harbourfront Restaurant at Bermuda Underwater Exploration Institute, we head to the Caves at Grotto Bay for a sip-and-paint experience with Bermudian painter Alshanté Foggo. I’m expecting something artist-led but when we sit down at a round table on a cramped platform bobbing in crystal clear cave water lit in shades of pink and blue and purple, we’re given options of paintings to replicate. I don’t even look at them because all I want to paint—like generations of travelers before me—is Bermuda. I pull up my photo of the view from Turtle Bay and get to work. Thin acrylics and tired paint brushes make the process more challenging than charming, but that’s the universal sip-and-paint experience, isn’t it? I barely touch my wine; I’m too busy painting. Three hours fly by in a haze of creativity, and it’s well past midnight when we stumble back to the hotel, carefully carrying our wet canvases.
By now, I’m starting to feel ready to go home—sort of. Can you absorb all of Bermuda’s art scene in just 48 hours? Yes but no. This trip’s itinerary was packed to bursting, yet I know I’ve barely grazed the surface of the island’s creative pulse. I’ve met a handful of Bermudian artists, but there’s a sea of talent I’ll probably never discover.
The next morning, as the plane touches down in the U.S., I ask my row mates whether they’re visiting or heading home. Visiting, they say, and then they ask me what I got up to in Bermuda. I tell them I was there to check out some of the Art Month happenings. “It was Art Month?” they ask, puzzled. And there it is: Bermuda has so much art worth seeing, but it has some work to do to let the world know it’s there.
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Publish date : 2024-11-18 21:52:00
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