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Author: Carol L. Douglas

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What is your network?

Hiking, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 includes shipping in continental US.

One of the nicest things about being an artist is avoiding the world of business-speak. Still, even artists must network.

Networking is sometimes described in negative terms: cronyism, the old boy network, or nepotism. But we human beings network constantly and naturally; weā€™re very much pack animals at heart.

The Wreck of the SS Ethie, oil on canvas, 18X24, $2318 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Itā€™s not what you know, itā€™s who you know

Like most people, my network starts with my family. Beyond that, I have three circles of friends: my art-world friends, my church buddies, and my trail buddies. Any overlap evolves naturally. Iā€™ll invite all my friends to openings, for example, but I donā€™t expect any of them to buy from me. However, some of my best opportunities have come from non-artist friends.

Our networks change over time depending on our interests. I no longer run a community garden or live in a neighborhood, so those circles have quietly faded away.

What is your network? Is there overlap between your circles of friends? How much of your social interactions happen in the real world vs. on social media?

Why is networking important for artists?

From a business standpoint, the value of networking is obvious: it exposes you to opportunities like gallery representation, exhibitions, residencies, grants, and sales.

Networking also exposes you to different ideas about art, including feedback and critique on your own work. In addition to helping you make concrete changes, this can give you insights into how your work is perceived by others. Iā€™m always keen to see how my work looks in natural settings rather than the artificial environment of a studio or gallery.

I took classes and workshops for decades. As a young mother, they were my best route to meeting other artists. As I struggled to create a professional practice for myself, those friends provided support and encouragement. (And of course I learned a lot.)

Deadwood, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072.00 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

It can go wrongā€¦ or right

I once belonged to a womenā€™s art critique group. In theory it was a safe space where we could discuss ways to overcome the art-world bias against women. In practice, it devolved into a bitch session. Groups like that poison your attitude, so theyā€™re worse than useless.

My most helpful critics are my family. Most of them have some art background, but more importantly, they have no ego in the art world. If they tell me, ā€œThat doesnā€™t look right,ā€ I listen.

Visibility

Iā€™m always enthusiastic about attending openings (or any other public events) until the time comes to put my pants on. Then I feel a sudden, pressing need to stay home. Like many artists, Iā€™m a recluse at heart. But supporting your peers is important. Itā€™s also one of the best ways you can increase your own visibility within the art community.

The Late Bus, oil on archival canvasboard, 6X8, $435.00 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Then thereā€™s social media

There are people I first met through social media whoā€™ve morphed into real world friends. There are other friends with whom I can only stay connected through my computer or phone. Quit kvetching about social media and use it to grow your following, showcase your work, connect with other artists, and engage with the public.

Show your work

Iron sharpens iron. I loathe rejection as much as the next guy, but the process of submitting work to juried shows and events expands our reach and connectionsā€¦ and makes us better painters.

Reach out

Remember when we used to contact each other IRL? Itā€™s so alien to me now that I sometimes forget that walking in to a gallery or studio and engaging with the human being I find there is the first and best way to forge genuine relationships.

Iā€™m in Britain on another lovely, long, blister-inducing hike. Iā€™ve turned my phone off and while Iā€™m gone, Laura will be running the office. Just email me as usual if you have questions or problems registering for a class or workshop. (Who am I kidding? She fixes all that stuff anyway.)

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: This is a post about watching paint dry

Chemistryā€”which I took fifty years agoā€”was my worst subject, and now I spend much of my time thinking about it. Life always gets the last laugh.

ā€œHow long does oil paint take to dry?ā€ is one of the most frequent questions Iā€™m asked. I made this video to answer the question. Itā€™s part of The Heart of the Painting, step six of Seven Protocols for Oil Painters.

For those of you playing along at home, I recorded the video for step seven (about final finishes and flourishes) before I left for Britain. Laura is editing it right now. When itā€™s done, youā€™ll be able to learn to paint step-by-step at your own pace and youā€™ll no longer need me.

I plan to edit this material into book form when Iā€™m done. No ā€˜how to paintā€™ book can possibly be as complete as these interactive courses, but a book is easier to curl up with.

Victoria Street, 16X20, oil on linen in a hard maple frame, $2029 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

So, how long does oil paint take to dry?

New painters want to know if they must let their paint dry between layers. Itā€™s not necessary if you adhere scrupulously to the ā€˜fat over leanā€™ rule. Keep those bottom layers thin and you can paint right into them.

Paint is a simple material, just pigment particles suspended in a binder. So why do some paintings break down? Much of that is down to experimenting with additives. Laying new materials in a pool of drying oils is a recipe for long-term decay. Our museums are full of 20th century paintings with premature cracking. In oil painting, conservative skepticism is sensible.

https://www.watch-me-paint.com/product/midnight-at-the-wood-lot/Midnight at the Wood Lot, oil on archival canvasboard, $1449.00 framed includes shipping and handling within continental US.

Ignoring the ā€˜fat over leanā€™ rule is another cause of failed, cracking paintings. The most common solvent today is odorless mineral spirits (OMS) which breaks down the oil and then evaporates. In the bottom layer, that can leave a touch-hard finish in as little as half an hour. That surface can easily be broken if you need to edit. However, in the squishy top layers, OMS can wreck your painting.

I wish someone had told me this when I was younger. I struggled with paintings that looked great when wet but grey when dry, and which aged terribly even in the short time I knew them.

Oil paints donā€™t dry, they absorb oxygen from the air to harden. Whatā€™s oxidizing isnā€™t the pigment but the oil between the pigment particles. Different pigments have different particle sizes, so some colors dry faster than others. Iā€™ve outlined the dry times in the video, but the most important one to remember is titanium white, which is a slow dryer. Thatā€™s one reason it doesnā€™t belong in your grisaille.

The ā€˜fatā€™ in paint is siccative oil, which in most cases is linseed oil. Itā€™s so harmless itā€™s edible. The downside of linseed oil is its tendency to yellow over time, so other oils, like walnut or safflower, have been substituted. They, sadly, are more prone to cracking. Itā€™s an imperfect world, isnā€™t it?

Alkyd paints and mediums are made from oil-modified resin treated with alcohol and acid. Their main advantage is their dry time. They can give you a touch-dry surface in 24 hours. You can use an alkyd medium with traditional oil paint. The granddaddy of these was Winsor & Newtonā€™s Liquin, developed in the 1960s. In general, alkyd resin doesnā€™t hold as much pigment as traditional oils do. I donā€™t use them because I generally seek a slower dry time, and Iā€™m put off by the smell.

Stone Wall, Salt Marshes, 14×18, $1594 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

How long does oil paint take to dry? It depends on many factors, but as long as you follow the ā€˜fat over leanā€™ rule, itā€™s not important.

Iā€™m in Britain on another lovely, long, blister-inducing hike. Iā€™ve turned my phone off and while Iā€™m gone, Laura will be running the office. Just email me as usual if you have questions or problems registering for a class or workshop. (Who am I kidding? She fixes all that stuff anyway.)

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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A walk in an English woods

A walk in an English woods, oil on linen, 16X20, private collection.

Iā€™ve never starred in one of my own paintings before, and if I were to choose my pose, I probably wouldnā€™t choose to paint my backside, but there was something magical about this moment. My husband posted a photo of this scene on Facebook, from our hike along Hadrianā€™s Wall in 2022.

ā€œI should paint that,ā€ I mused.

ā€œDo it,ā€ my friend Kenny said, and a commission was born.

There are some painters whoā€™ve specialized in painting the deep woods: the Barbizon painters and John Carlson come immediately to mind. The trouble is in sorting the screen of trees into a coherent pattern. One can vignette the subject into the deep woods, as Colin Page did in this lovely painting of his daughters. One can use the trees as a vertical screen, as Gustav Klimt did in his birch forest paintings. Or one can group them in masses, as Carlson did here.

Stiles have gone the way of the dodo in the US, but in Britain theyā€™re very common. Theyā€™re steps or gates that allow people to pass a fence or wall while keeping the sheep or cows neatly in their enclosures. Some are nothing more than flat stone footholds; nicer ones have a swing gate within a frame box, as here. I think we crossed about 20,000 of these on our 84-mile hike.

Wooden stiles have all the visual charm of a hayrack. Theyā€™re of unfinished dimensional lumber and squared off to the path. While the stile is the subject of this painting, it couldnā€™t be the main focus. Nor should I be; even if I am the largest figure in the painting. Instead, itā€™s the couple in the distance with their little dog, Poppy.

A walk in the woods

It was a moment I remembered well, because I was sure that Kenny and Martha had chosen the wrong path. I was certain that we should veer to the right. Part of my goal in the painting was to portray that sense of Robert Frostā€™s The Road Not Taken:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and Iā€”
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Sometimes it isnā€™t by choice.

The challenge in this painting was finding the right color temperature and brushwork without overriding the peace and solitude of these ancient woods. Iā€™m quite happy with the results, and I donā€™t often say that.

Iā€™m in Britain on another lovely, long, blister-inducing hike. Iā€™ve turned my phone off and while Iā€™m gone, Laura will be running the office. Just email me as usual if you have questions or problems registering for a class or workshop. (Who am I kidding? She fixes all that stuff anyway.)

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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How to describe light: two new Zoom classes

Massif in Sedona, AZ in morning light. Private collection

As you know, Iā€™m on vacation, pummeling the soles of my feet on the Yorkshire dales. That means Laura gets to handle the arrangements for my next series of classes, which is the only set of Zoom classes Iā€™ll do before late autumn. There are limited seats in these classes and when theyā€™re gone, theyā€™re gone. Other than that, youā€™ll be limited to taking one of my in-person workshops. (Of course, thereā€™s nothing wrong with that.)

Here are two approaches to how to describe light:

Words+Picturesā€”Monday evenings

In addition to the more concrete examples of combining words and images, we’ll experiment using text as a graphic element.

Words+Pictures has been on my mind for a while. As a graphic designer, I did lots of illustration and as I transitioned to painting full time I wrote and illustrated two books. Despite my love of kids, Iā€™m whimsy-impaired, so that wasnā€™t the career path for me. However, I love to write and I love to paint, and I spend lots of time at the intersection of the two.

Even if you never plan to illustrate anything, thinking about your paintings in words expands how you approach your visual art.

Sometimes a picture is really a narrative.

This will be an exploration weā€™ll undertake together, as Iā€™m as excited about it as anyone. Weā€™ll cover:

  • Haiga
  • Storyboarding
  • Illustrationā€”story
  • Illustrated poem
  • Designing type into a painting
  • The travelling sketch book. Iā€™ll be working on this as I amble through the Yorkshire countryside!

This class will meet Mondays, June 10th, 17th, 24th, July 1st, 15th, 22nd, from 6-9pm ET.

Same massif in evening light.

The Color of Lightā€”Tuesday evenings

The Color of Light is more tightly focused on painting. Lighting effects are intimately tied with composition and together these two elements can make a painting sink or swim. If youā€™ve ever had a painting ā€œgo dullā€ on you, itā€™s because you havenā€™t properly integrated lighting effects from the beginning.

This class is designed for people who already know how to handle their material. Once one gets past getting the paint to properly stick to the surface, painting is less about how to paint and more about how to see. Weā€™ll cover:

  • Global color and complements
  • The optics of light (and why a lightbox is a terrible idea)
  • Deep shade
  • Fragmented light: the lessons of Impressionism
  • Reflection
  • Indoor lighting schemes

This class will meet Tuesdays: June 11th, 18th, 25th, July 2nd, 16th, 23rd, from 6-9pm ET.

Although Iā€™ll try to steal moments with my laptop, everything will fall in Lauraā€™s lap while Iā€™m gone. Iā€™ve turned my cell phone off, so email me here instead. Laura has a toddler, so it might take a little longer than usual, but she will help you, I promise.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: whatā€™s the perfect travel watercolor kit?

Bunker Hill overlook, watercolor on Yupo, approx. 24X36, $3985 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Itā€™s possible that I have too many travel watercolor kits. They include two Winsor & Newton field boxes (cute and cuter) as well as a beautiful antique box that was a gift from my friend Toby. The trouble with prefabricated kits is that they have unnecessary pigments and usually leave out the good stuff. Nobody needs convenience mixes like Sap Green or Payneā€™s Greyā€”having them on your palette just results in duller colors.

My watercolor kits for the schooner workshop are a little more complex–more paints and a water pan that doesn’t slide.

Thatā€™s why I make a custom one for students of my watercolor workshop aboard the schooner American Eagle. Of course I have one of those boxes, too.

Then thereā€™s my kit for bigger watercolor paintings, which is what I recommend to my plein air students. I have used this 18-well palette successfully for field paintings of up to 36ā€ wide, although I do have to clean it off frequently. Again, it holds more paint than is strictly necessary, since nobody needs 18 different pigments. Whatā€™s most useful is a bigger mixing well, and sometimes a disposable plate is just the answer.

My trimmed down box for this trip. Primary colors and white gouache just to use up the space.

Choosing the right travel watercolor kit is always a complicated dance between what is optimal and what I can pack or carry.

Iā€™m hiking in Yorkshire this week, after which I will go up to Scotland. For painting, Iā€™ve limited myself to what I can carry in what the British call a bumbag (because ā€˜fanny packā€™ would be an obscenity over here). I wanted a kit for myself and for my pal Martha, whoā€™s hiking with me.

I started with an Altoids box, because where I live itā€™s cheaper to buy Altoids than an empty tin. I stuck down four half pans with double-sided tape. Why four, when limited palette in watercolor only needs three paints? I didnā€™t want to leave a gap next to my mixing well.

I used three primary colors made by QoR. Iā€™m a big fan of these paints, which are made by Golden Artist Colors in upstate New York. Theyā€™re bright, clear, and reasonably priced, and theyā€™re tuned to the American palette. To get the broadest range of color, I used:

I filled the last pot with white gouache just for fun.

QoR makes nice field kits, including this one, which has the virtue of not including extraneous pigments. But in addition to wanting to carry as little as possible, I want Martha to have as little choice as possible. Too much choice can drive a new painter nuts.

Since the Strathmore Visual Journal is not negotiable, it determines the size of the final kit.

There are some lovely folding brushes out there, including this nifty travel kit. That was a bit pricey for a gift, so I got each of us a set of Pentel water brushes. I added a Strathmore multimedia visual journal and a bound Strathmore watercolor pad, two mechanical pencils, a pill bottle (for water) and a small flannel rag. Now we each have a kit we can carry and use as the spirit moves us.

Have you ever made a travel watercolor kit for backpacking? If so, how did you do it?

Iā€™m in Britain on another lovely, long, blister-inducing hike. Iā€™ve turned my phone off and while Iā€™m gone, Laura will be running the office. Just email me as usual if you have questions or problems registering for a class or workshop. (Who am I kidding? She fixes all that stuff anyway.)

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Marine art finally escapes drydock

Brigantine Swift in Camden Harbor, 24X30, oil on canvas, framed, $3478 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

This painting benefitted from a good long spell in drydock.

I started it a few years ago on the docks at Camden harbor, for Camden on Canvas. Thatā€™s the brainchild of Colin Page, and itā€™s become a great venue for marine art as well as a successful fundraiser for the Camden Library. (Iā€™m happy to say Iā€™m in again for 2024.)

It was hot, I was parched, and for once the creak of wood and water wasnā€™t moving me. I threw down my brushes in disgust.

ā€œI hate it,ā€ I spat out as I scraped the canvas down. I almost never do that, but I was riled.

ā€œI like it,ā€ said Bjƶrn Runquist.

ā€œItā€™s not that bad,ā€ said Eric Jacobsen.

ā€œWhat is the matter with you?ā€ asked Ken DeWaard, who never cuts me any slack.

Whatā€™s the point of having friends if you never listen to them?

The only part I really liked was the filtered, haloed sun, but that wasnā€™t enough to hang a whole painting on. Still, I respect their opinions, so I didnā€™t use the canvas as a sail for my dinghy. Instead, it went into my giant pile of unfinished marine art. It was bigger than most of the others, so I was constantly catching it with my foot or in the corner of my eye. Gradually, it grew on me.

Its spars (the things the sails hang from) are so delicate that they look as if they couldnā€™t possibly survive the North Atlantic. Even worse, they looked cockeyed to me. ā€œYouā€™re a better draftsman than that,ā€ I chided myself.

I almost never take reference photos, preferring to whine at my friends if I discover I need one. However, I did find a picture from the dock that day. Those spars looked just as cockeyed in the photo as they did in my painting. The only other square-rigger I know of at rest is Cutty Sark, in Greenwich, England. Her spars are perpendicular to the keel, but sheā€™s not exactly docked; sheā€™s more trapped, like an insect in amber.

Cutty Sark stuck in her permanent installation in Greenwich. Sheā€™s going nowhere. Photo courtesy of Ethan Doyle White/

I called my resident expert on all matters maritime, Captain John Foss. He told me that, despite the name, a square-rigger can, in fact, turn its spars. They can be angled from running straight across the vessel (‘square’), to a beam reach or even a close reach.

I learn something new every day, darn it.

Marine art is complicted

Many years ago, I was wrapping up a painting on the Camden docks when two young salts stopped to look at it.

ā€œShould we tell her?ā€ asked one, quietly enough that he thought I couldnā€™t hear.

ā€œNah.ā€

I might love painting boats, but I donā€™t think Iā€™ve ever done a spot of marine art that didnā€™t include an error or omission. Sometimes theyā€™re intentional, for compositional purposes. Sometimes theyā€™re oversights, and sometimes theyā€™re mistakes. I think this one is fine, but if not, one of my friends is sure to tell me.

Iā€™m in Britain onĀ another lovely, long, blister-inducing hike. Iā€™ve turned my phone off and while Iā€™m gone, Laura will be running the office. JustĀ email meĀ as usual if you have questions or problems registering for a class or workshop. (Who am I kidding? She fixes all that stuff anyway.)

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Whatā€™s your creative block?

The Wave, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869, includes shipping in continental US.

A creative block is a mental roadblock. You feel stuck, uninspired, and have difficulty concentrating. Your creativity is halted or hindered, and nothing you create meets your standards. We all hit these roadblocks in the creative process.

What creative block do you struggle with?

For me, the worst causes of creative block are overwork, breaks in my routine, and pressing problems crowding out my painting time. But my worst obstacle is clutter. (My engineer husband says he isnā€™t bothered by it. Go figure.)

Coast Guard Inspection, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Here are some other common causes of creative block:

  • Fear of failure, self-doubt and negative feedback (see Mondayā€™s post for help);
  • Perfectionism, which is the enemy of good;
  • External stressors (including for some people, deadlines);
  • Monotony;
  • External distractions. From what many artists have told me, first among these are household chores.
https://www.watch-me-paint.com/product/american-eagle-in-dry-dock/American Eagle in Drydock, 12X16, $1159 unframed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

How do you overcome creative block?

I work at regularly-scheduled times (Monday-Friday). That quiets my squirrel brain, and helps me sink into the painting state more easily.

I also believe in rigorous daily exercise. Itā€™s good for the psyche as well as the back. And for me, deadlines are energizing, at least until theyā€™re too close. Thereā€™s a fine line between excitement and panic.

Others have found these ideas helpful:

  • Change up your environment. Thatā€™s one of the beauties of plein air; itā€™s never the same from day to day.
  • Take frequent breaks. Give your brain a chance to recharge. If nothing else, reading the news makes me eager to get back to my easel.
  • Do some creative work that isnā€™t directly related to your main discipline. Thatā€™s why Iā€™m teaching a session on words and art in June, but anything that you enjoy will help. That includes reading, which is a fantastic spur to the imagination.
  • If deadlines panic you, set benchmarks. ā€œToday Iā€™m going to finish the grisaille and then Iā€™ll reward myself with a cappuccino.ā€ Recognizing your smaller accomplishments gives you a sense of momentum.
  • Put ten, and only ten, things away every morning. Five minutes of putting things away every morning stops me from sliding into a big housekeeping binge when I should be painting.
  • Peter Yesis and I both (coincidentally) spent a few years doing small warm-up exercises (fifteen or twenty minutes) before we painted. I no longer need them, but they helped me bridge the gap between real life and my studio during a long period in the creative desert.
Breaking Storm, oil on linen, 30X48, $5579 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Some distractions canā€™t be ignored

There have been phases in my life (parenting, illness, grief) when my work slowed or even stilled. Yes, I believed at those times that I could never regain my momentum. However, here I am, and if youā€™re in one of those phases, you will too. Itā€™s helpful to remember that life comes first, no matter what your discipline.

Creative blocks and interruptions are a natural part of life. Be patient with yourself.

Iā€™m in Britain on another lovely, long, blister-inducing hike. Iā€™ve turned my phone off and while Iā€™m gone, Laura will be running the office. Just email me as usual if you have questions or problems registering for a class or workshop. (Who am I kidding? She fixes all that stuff anyway.)

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: What are you good at?

Home Farm, 20X24, oil on canvas, $2898 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Painting teachers can sometimes focus on the negative, because itā€™s part of our job to point out deficiencies. However, there is a lot we can learn by asking our students, ā€œWhat are you good at?ā€

Iā€™ll go first: Iā€™m logical, good with numbers, and Iā€™m disciplined. In art terms, Iā€™m a good composer and draftsman and Iā€™m intrepid. See, that wasnā€™t too hard.

Lobster pound, 14X18, oil on canvas, $1594 framed includes shipping and handling within the continental US.

Your turn: what are you good at?

Name three qualities that are general and three related to your art. I can easily see a relationship between my strengths on and off the canvas. What about you? Are your strengths as an artist related to your strengths as a person?

No, itā€™s not bragging

Iā€™m not asking you to talk about your awesomeness to everyone you know. We humans all perseverate on our weaknesses, and as an artist youā€™ve chosen a career with lots of knocks to the ego. A realistic idea about your strengths is a good counterweight to the negativity of the art world.

Camden Harbor, Midsummer, oil on canvas, 24X36 $3188 includes shipping in continental US.

Why is this important?

Looking at our strengths is an effective learning tool. Reflecting on our strengths helps us understand ourselves better. It allows us to recognize where we excel and what comes naturally to us.

Knowing our strengths boosts our confidence. When we are aware of what we’re good at, we feel more capable and empowered to tackle daunting challenges. Confidence can be a driving force in achieving our goals.

Understanding our strengths also helps us set realistic and achievable goals. By leveraging our strengths, we embark on projects that align with our abilities. That increases our chances of success.

Focusing on our strengths enables us to further develop and refine them. Continuous improvement in areas where we excel can lead to greater mastery in those areas. That in turn enhances our overall competence.

It also allows us to collaborate more effectively with others. I have a show hanging at Lone Pine Real Estate this season. Itā€™s a good symbiotic mesh between experienced brokers and an experienced painter. I recognize their strength at attracting a clientele, but I also understand that my strengths in painting houses and boats gives them subject matter that meshes with their mission.

Above all, recognizing our competence develops resilience. All of us sometimes get to a point where we think, ā€œI canā€™t do anything right.ā€ Knowing our competence helps us navigate periods of self-doubt or rejection.

Main Street, Owl’s Head, oil on archival canvasboard, $1623 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Above all, it feels good

Not beating ourselves up all the time is such a relief. Art (and life) is just more fun when we feel good about what weā€™re doing. What we focus on, we (to some degree) become. As King Solomon wrote some 3000 years ago, ā€œfor as he thinks within himself, so he is.ā€

If youā€™ve got the courage, answer the question ā€œwhat are you good at in art and in life?ā€ below. (I promise to not tell anyone.) Can you see a relationship between the two? Can you see a way those strengths can be a building block to future success?

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

Footnote: the Red Barn Gallery in Port Clyde, ME, is looking for an artist to join for the 2024 season. It’s a cooperative gallery so you must be able and willing to work shifts there. Having done it myself, I can tell you there are few places more pleasant in which to spend a summer afternoon. The application is here.

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Painting sails

Heavy Weather (Ketch Angelique), 24X36, oil on canvas, framed, $3985 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

That red buoy on the left is a nun. Red marks the edge of the channel on the starboard side when a boat is heading in from the open sea. That tells us the ketch Angelique is heading into port, running through a very changeable sea.

Last winter I was asked to do an online demo of a marine painting by the North Weald Art Group in Surrey, England. They didnā€™t care whether I painted boats or the sea, so I gave them both. As you know, Iā€™ll take any opportunity to paint a boat, paint on a boat, or look at paintings of a boat. But I also wanted to demonstrate painting waves, because they have the potential for great power in their design.

The problem with a split subject is in giving equal weight to each part. Thatā€™s good for demonstrating two separate subjects, but not so great in composition. By adding the nun (the red buoy), I was able to tie together and energize the composition, echoing the red of the nun in Angeliqueā€™s tanbark sails. If youā€™re interested in painting sails, Angeliqueā€™s are fun because they create a bold dark shape against the sky.

My sketch for Heavy Weather. 5X8, graphite on Bristol-finish paper.

I could have painted a small oil painting in the allotted two hours, but that would have been difficult for the North Weald people to see on their small monitors. Working large meant I had no chance of finishing; I had to preload some of my demo.

I started with an idea board. Except for the nun, none of these photos were to be quoted verbatim (meaning there arenā€™t any copyright issues). I drew my composition and transferred it to the canvas. Then I made an educated guess about my palette and premixed my colors. All of that took just moments to describe, and that allowed me to get right to the heart of the painting.

My grisaille for Heavy Weather.

Up to that point, my interest was purely pedantic; I just wanted to demonstrate painting sails and painting waves. But once I had my brushes in my fat little hand, the painting grabbed me by the scruff of the neck. My time flew by. ā€œAre you sure you must go?ā€ I asked them. ā€œIā€™m good for another few hours.ā€

My problem in painting waves is that I enjoy it so much I can just keep painting the same ones over and over, in a sort of meditative state. Finally, it was time to say ā€œenough is enoughā€ and declare them finished.

This painting is now hanging at Lone Pine Real Estateā€™s new office at 17 Elm Street, Camden, ME. Broker Rachael Umstead invited me to hang paintings in their newly-decorated space so I brought her an assortment of 16 of my favorites. I shot some video hoping to put together a reel, but I was just too tired, and it flopped. No problem; Rachael shot a super-cute reel, which you can see here.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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What do you think plein air painting is?

Midsummer, 24X36, oil on canvas, $3,188 includes shipping and handling in continental US. This painting was completed on site over several days.

ā€œDo you have a good source for the definition of plein air painting?ā€ a reader asked. ā€œCan the painting be finished in the studio? Can it span a couple days in execution?ā€

More useless pontification has been done on this subject than almost any other. Iā€™ll start by pointing Tim to this essay by John Morra examining the nature of plein air painting. It stands alone, but let me add a few of my own thoughts.

Main Street, Owl’s Head, oil on archival canvasboard, $1623 includes shipping and handling in continental US. This was done on site on one long day.

Many of us have been in a competitive plein air event and seen something passed off as outdoor painting that was clearly not painted from life. How do we know this? Because we were there. The atmospherics were wrong, that person was never in that spot, orā€”mirabile dictuā€”the oil paint has already set up hours after completion.

But mostly, we know because thereā€™s a sort of studied perfection to a studio painting that is never there in plein air. A painting done on site is never quite as innovative as a studio landscape. Plein air can often seem labored or overworked because the artist is trying so hard. This is not necessarily a bad thing; itā€™s destructive when plein air events reward stylishness over content and design, as they so often do.

Lobster pound, 14X18, oil on canvas, $1594 framed includes shipping and handling within the continental US. I’ve occasionally thought about brightening this up in the studio, but I think that would ruin its genuine moodiness.

Plein air or alla prima?

Plein air means it was done outside. Alla prima means it was done ā€˜on the first strikeā€™. Plein air is a description of where a painting was done; alla prima is a technique. There is no such thing as plein air style, nor is something thatā€™s painterly more authentically plein air than something thatā€™s linear. Can we all stop apologizing for liking realism?

Vincent Van Gogh is the personification of painterliness. Rackstraw Downes is the personification of linearity. Theyā€™re both also definitive plein air painters, even though their work looks nothing alike.

Waiting to play (Boathouse), oil on archival canvasboard, 14X18, $1275 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US. This is a painting that’s experimental and observational rather than stylish.

Can the painting be finished in the studio?

This is where the arbitrary rules of plein air events start to influence the actual practice of plein air painting. To say that a painting should be ā€˜substantiallyā€™ finished in the field is meaningless; to say it should be done 90% in the field is just as meaningless. What are they measuring? Time? The volume of paint? The area of the canvas?

I almost never finish plein air work in the studio. I invariably end up overpainting what I most loved about being outdoors. But I have friends who touch up their plein air paintings at events. If they feel that gives them a better result, more power to them. As my buddy Brad Marshall once mused, ā€œThe clients donā€™t care how much of it was painted outdoors; why should I?ā€

Sketch or painting?

Composition is one of the hardest skills in painting. The rules of composition are the same whether the piece is done in studio or in the field, and the smart plein air painter puts as much effort into the set-up of a plein air painting as he or she would for a studio piece. Thatā€™s different from the plein air sketch, which is about capturing an impression.

How long can I work on it before it stops being plein air?

ā€œA plein air painting should be painted quickly,ā€ Morra wrote. This is one point on which I disagree. Fast, expressive brushwork is the trope of our age, but itā€™s by no means the only way to paint.

Iā€™ve done many events where weā€™re given two or three days to produce one work. Sometimes I paint two paintings, but more typically, I squander all my time on planning and just paint one. I inevitably like my work better than when I churn out fast sketch after fast sketch.

In fact, modernĀ plein airĀ paintingĀ is often so fast it sacrifices drawing. A badly drawn house or person is a rookie mistake. My own preference is for fast painting paired with meticulous drawing. Want a great contemporary example? Check outĀ Canadian painter Marc Grandbois.

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