How counting seagrass seeds has parallels in my studio practice
When people ask me “how do you know if a painting is finished?” I usually say “I just know when it’s done.” But recently, I discovered the deeper truth behind this intuitive process during an extraordinary seagrass restoration project in Maine’s pristine waters.
It happened on a Friday when marine biologist Glenn Page, Director of Collaborative for Bioregional Action Learning & Transformation (COBALT) in Maine emailed asking if I could join “Team Zostera” for a seagrass restoration project by Monday. Some invitations make you think—do I have plans, can I get organized, however this one made me GO. Just like knowing when a painting is complete, I instinctively knew: YES.
After working a whole day at the studio on Sunday, I drove three hours to Bowdoin College’s Schiller Coastal Studies Center in Harpswell, Maine. This former farm sits on 2.5 miles of rocky shoreline on Orr’s Island, surrounded by the Gulf of Maine’s pristine waters and over 30 islands.
When I arrived just before 7 pm, I found the Team Zostera relaxing around a fire pit after a successful day of collecting many buckets of seagrass. Glenn, Allison, Levi, and Savanna were sharing stories about diving in the lush underwater meadows, and how buoyant they felt in scuba gear surrounded by towering green shoots. I didn’t understand much of the oxygen tank numbers they were talking about but could relate to the crabs and fish they saw. They made the hard work sound easy and fun. Collecting 15 buckets of seagrass by hand underwater is not easy.
Glenn offered me a veggie burger after realizing I don’t eat meat, of course being so excited about making it up to the center I had forgotten dinner. The evening conversations and laughter were perfect. With Savanna’s help, I managed to get my GoPro underwater camera working—brilliant timing for the next day’s underwater exploration. Glenn, with his great sense of community and humor, talked about asking the seagrass underwater for permission to collect the seedlings (though they had conducted proper surveys to ensure sustainable harvesting). He told us how this land was used by the Wabanaki people for fishing and even today ceremonies honoring the ancestors occur here. How cool to think of the passage of time, the people before us and our role in the protection of our oceans.
Following My Artist's Instinct: From Studio to Seagrass Meadows
After dinner, I followed Savanna down to the lab using my phone’s flashlight. Walking into the Lab building, I couldn’t believe my eyes when she pointed out all the starfish in the tanks. “I thought they were gone,” I said, recounting 20 years of kayaking in Acadia without seeing any. “Back in 2015 we would see them everywhere.” I thought they were effected by outbreaks of warming water and wasting disease.
“They are still here,” she said “we find them in cooler shallow areas.”
Savannah showed me the tanks of seagrass filled with oxygenated water—the same setup where our counted seeds would be nurtured until their October release. She picked up a clam—they were hilarious, opening and closing up. We walked past the oysters and chatted. We said hi to a student taking notes, then headed back up the hill. I was so excited—spruce trees, a marine lab, starfish, and seagrass. Could it get any better?
Cobalt director Glenn explains the seedling collection plan:
Savanna shares scuba protocols:
Our Temporary Island Studio: A Tent Office on the Water
The next morning brought fog and adventure. Our small team—Glenn Page (founder and marine scientist at Cobalt), Allison, Savannah, Ann-Sophie, and I—took a boat to a tiny island where a large tent awaited: our “office for the day.”
Glenn had thoughtfully equipped our headquarters with chairs, sunblock, music, and countless buckets of freshly collected seagrass. While the diving team collected reproductive shoots from the underwater meadows, Ann-Sophie and I had a crucial job: “plucking spathes”—carefully removing seed pods from the lighter-colored stems and counting each precious seed.
In our office,
Glenn describes how to identify reproductive shoots with spathes versus regular shoots:
The Science Behind Seed Counting
Glenn’s restoration work relies on precise data. Our job was to determine exactly how many seeds each reproductive shoot produces—critical information for calculating how many shoots to collect for successful meadow establishment.
For five hours, we methodically processed seagrass shoots. The work was repetitive but essential—each count contributed to Glenn’s research on seagrass propagation rates. We learned to identify the lighter-colored reproductive stems and carefully extract the spathes (seed pouches) without damaging the delicate contents.
Our findings were remarkable:
- 100 Zostera shoots = 820 spathes (seed pouches)
- This ratio allows Cobalt to calculate exactly how many shoots to collect
- These seeds will be nurtured in oxygenated tanks until October release
- Glenn’s goal: use this data to establish new seagrass meadows throughout Harpswell’s waters, increasing the chances of restoration success through strategic dispersal
Swimming Through A Seagrass Meadow
By 2 PM, with blackened fingers from spathe plucking , I popped on my wetsuit and fasten my GoPro camera to my wrist like Allison showed me and walked right into the ocean. As I began swimming, it felt refreshing . I remembered swimming in seagrass meadows in Massachusetts, in the Mediterranean, in Canada, down in Virginia —all very different. Some had shallow basins, some had rocky sediment. This meadow was incredibly dense and tall. Swimming through it, I watched the blades sway with the current, light filtering down through the green canopy above. The blue-green was a greyed in color- not super bright yet the pops of light green created flickers. The constant movement was mesmerizing—overlapping plants shifting back and forth in patterns I’d never seen before. It was an immersive color blast of blue greens, yet at the same time peaceful and meditative- just beautiful!
From Ocean Floor to Canvas: How Seagrass Inspires My Marine Paintings
This underwater experience revealed something profound about my artistic process. The same intuitive knowing that tells me when a painting is finished is what drew me to answer Glenn’s invitation immediately. It’s the same force that guides my brush when capturing the fluid movements of marine life.
The seagrass meadows taught me:
- Patience in process: Like seed counting, great paintings develop through careful, methodical work
- Beauty in repetition: The meadow’s hypnotic patterns mirror the rhythm of brushstrokes
- Connection to place: Understanding the ecosystem deepens my artistic interpretation
- Conservation through art: My paintings can inspire others to protect these underwater treasures
- Community through action: We can find like-minded ocean protectors and find ways to collaborate to take better care of our planet
Ancient Wisdom, Future Hope: The Deeper Meaning
As our boat returned with buckets of seagrass, I reflected on the sacred landscape Glenn had described around the fire the night before. Archaeological evidence shows Indigenous people have harvested from these waters for over 13,000 years. Imagining them navigating these same channels, perhaps swimming through even lusher seagrass forests, connects this experience to something much larger than myself.
Glenn shared how this remains sacred land for the Wabanaki people—the People of the Dawn—who continue traditional rituals that honor their ancestors and cultural history.
Back in the Studio
Now when I’m painting, I think about those hours counting seeds—the patience, the careful attention to each small detail that adds up to something bigger. The way the seagrass moved underwater shows up in my brushstrokes differently now. I understand the rhythm better, the way currents work.
This experience directly inspired my painting Seedling Transformation (above). The work explores the potential power of seagrass restoration—how a single seed can transform into an abundant meadow. In Virginia, acres of seagrass have been successfully regrown using this method of collecting and dispersing seedlings. Here in New England, we’re in the early stages of this process.
Each panel shows buoyant abstract seedlings in different phases. The shapes echo each other, yet each is unique—just like the seeds themselves. They have the same potential with varying contexts. I shifted from cool teal blues to warmer ultramarines, letting organic lines capture the movement I witnessed both in the lab and underwater in the meadows.
The question about knowing when a painting is finished. It’s the same instinct that made me say yes to Glenn’s invitation without hesitation. Sometimes you just know when something is right—whether it’s jumping in a car to Maine or putting down your brush because the piece is complete.
Links and other Important Information:
Team Zostera and Cobalt’s Mission in Casco Bay
Glenn leads Team Zostera, a groundbreaking citizen science effort launched in 2021 by COBALT (Collaborative for Bioregional Action Learning & Transformation) dedicated to mapping and documenting the health of eelgrass meadows in Casco Bay. Team Zostera | COBALT/Team Zostera Website As Executive Director of COBALT, Glenn brings over 40 years of experience working at the intersection of science, policy, and practice to address complex coastal and ocean challenges. The urgency of their work is clear: more than 50% of the eelgrass native to Casco Bay has already been lost. Climate leaders take a journey through Casco Bay Their restoration efforts are already showing results—in October 2024, the team scattered 40,000 eelgrass seeds near Cousins and Little John Islands off Yarmouth’s coast Casco Bay scientists tackle eelgrass loss, with ongoing research to test germination rates and refine their approach. This citizen science initiative represents a new model for community-based seagrass conservation and stewardship across the entire Casco Bay bioregion.
GET INVOLVED:
Sponsors An Acre of Seagrass
SEAGRASS MEADOW Sponsorship Opportunities
Gratitude and respect for the many Indigenous people and their ancestors whose rich histories and vibrant communities make Maine so vibrant and special today ( include the Abenaki, Maliseet, Micmac, Passamaquoddy, and Penobscot Nations). More can be found here:
Harpswell Heritage Land Trust on Indigenous use of Casco Bay islands & middens. Harpswell Heritage Land Trust
Harpswell’s Island Heritage
Casco Bay Lines blog on Abenaki place-names (Newaggin; meanings). Casco Bay Lines
What’s in a Name? Exploring the Heritage of Casco Bay.
Casco Bay Estuary Partnership interpretive panel PDF on island camps, tools, and middens. Casco Bay Estuary Partnership
https://www.cascobayestuary.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/2010_cbep_portland_waterfront_sign_prehistory.pdf?utm_source=chatgpt.com
UMaine News on why shell middens preserve Wabanaki environmental history. The University of Maine
Friends of Casco Bay on Aucocisco (Abenaki name for the bay). Friends of Casco Bay
Pejepscot History Center on Indigenous (Pejepscot/Anasagunticook) roots of the Brunswick–Topsham–Harpswell region. Pejepscot History Center
Maine Historic Preservation Commission: bibliography and survey references for Casco Bay archaeology (for deeper research/permissions). Maine
Exhibit highlights threatened shell middens containing Wabanaki, environmental history
What’s in a name?
Local History
Also A big thank you to Bowdoin College and for hosting us at Schiller Coastal Studies Center in Harpswell, Maine and collaborating with the Team Zostera from Cobalt.
https://www.bowdoin.edu/coastal-studies-center/
Note: Claude AI used for structuring this blog.
