It’s summertime and the weather is hot and traveling to the edge of the sea for a cool breeze is the perfect opportunity to get in some work “en plein air,” as they say in Neece, Marsay or Provahnce (or in art school). I call it painting outdoors. There was a time when this was the only type of painting I did and wouldn’t have thought about doing otherwise. If you’re a landscapist and you’re blessed to live in a region that offers such diverse options New England, why wouldn’t you? There is no doubt in my mind that working outdoors offers a richer palette, truly unfiltered reference material and the satisfaction of sensual interaction with the ultimate source - nature.

But I now prefer to work indoors - for two reasons: first, I’ve come to enjoy a slower pace of working than painting from life affords. You need to paint fast or adjust by making multiple sittings, and many artists do so with great success, but I personally would find that difficult and logistically complicated. In my studio, I can control the pace and everything is right there where I left it. Secondly, I like the challenge of creating not only the composition, but the palette and atmosphere of the piece. Knowing I can never totally replicate the beauty of the natural world offers me a mental and visual puzzle to solve - sometimes in ways that are anything but natural. Or, maybe I’m just a control freak…

This doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy forays outside though, and good weather served up with a well-made cold brew coffee in hand is a strong catalyst. Small live studies, like visits to museums, galleries and, actually, life itself, are the consumables that I draw from when I am before the easel. You must balance the intake of an artistic life with the output. Thus, painting from life here and there is a way for me to feed the beast and stoke the engine out of which I make art.

Hurricane Barrier from Fort Phoenix, 2021, watercolor on paper

Funny side story - and most artist’s I know who work plein air, especially in populated locations, have signature interactions like this with curious onlookers. I once set up my French landscape easel in an urban area to capture a street scene. Over the course of the morning a few people passed by, strolling to work or what-not. Most gave slight acknowledgements with a nod, smile or perhaps a brief comment (“Beautiful!” “Awesome!” “Nice work!") But one woman stopped and silently stared at me for quite some time. She was pretty old, with a distinct “old country” appearance - all in black, long skirt, black kerchief over her head and a large cloth shopping bag in one hand, filled with her market purchases. She watched me for what felt like a long time, never saying a word, until passing by me muttering, “You’ll never make a living.”