Some mornings when Nick woke up on his boat in Provincetown harbor, the fog was so thick that he could not see land. A forlorn moan penetrated the atmosphere, the foghorn’s dirge groaning in E-flat. After his mother died, he cried every day for a year, and then the tears dried up. He quit drinking alcohol and took up with tea. He swam almost every day and got to know the location of every pool between Provincetown and New York City. He likes to do laps for half an hour, turning back and forth in the water, going from one end to the other. Lean and lithe, like a fish, his body seems able to snap with the force of a fish tail. His face is smooth and calm, his watery eyes are introspective. He is neither hungry nor happy. He could be curled on a buoy eddying on its mooring. After the publication of Some Ether, he received the Amy Lowell Traveling Fellowship, which required that he spend a full year living outside the United States. The first thing he did was buy a sturdy pair of shoes. He visited Vietnam, Rome, and Africa.
— Christopher Busa
In Provincetown and the Sun Gallery, Vevers had found his artistic home, the place where he might be as free as he wished from the overweening force of the New York scene. “In the long run we of the Sun were perhaps not a true avant-garde, giving birth to a new vision as the Impressionists, Cubists, and Abstract Expressionists had done,” he declared. “We perhaps were more like the little boy and the Emperor’s new clothes, in resisting the status quo, and in pursuing a personal vision and our own personality. In this we were inspired by Lester Johnson and Jan Müller, who were leading the move to figuration at the Sun.”
— Townsend Ludington