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Author: Carol L. Douglas

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What I painted in Sedona, Arizona

Dawn along Upper Red Rock Loop Road, Sedona, 20X24 oil on canvas, $2318 unframed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

When do you get to stop worrying about your kids? Never.

I’ve had an exhausting fortnight, as my British subjects would say. I arrived in Albany, NY from my western perambulations with just enough time to alter multiple outfits for my goddaughter’s wedding. That was in Rochester, NY, last weekend. A lovely time it was, too. When my third daughter started to complain of abdominal pain, she pounded acetaminophen rather than set aside her bridesmaid’s duties.

She wasn’t kidding that it hurt; she had an emergency stent put in on Tuesday and her gallbladder removed on Wednesday. I’m vastly relieved that as of this writing she sounds much more chipper.

Cottonwoods along the Rio Verde, 9X12, oil on archivally-prepared Baltic birch, $696 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

My work from this year’s Sedona Plein Air

I took terrible photos of my paintings from Sedona but (for some reason) it took me until yesterday to rephotograph the ones I brought home with me. Although I will make more money if you buy a painting directly from my website, I’ll be just as happy if you buy one from the Sedona Arts Center if that’s the one that trips your trigger; it’s a great organization and could use the support. To that end, I’ve separated them into two sections. Click on the image and it will take you directly through to more complete description.

As I was writing this post, I kept thinking, “That’s one of my favorite paintings.” That’s a good sign; it means I have nothing to apologize for.

On my website

Dawn, at top, and Cottonwoods along the Rio Verde, above, are both on my website. In addition, there are:

Hail hitting the Cockscomb Formation, Sedona, 8X10, oil on archivally-prepared Baltic birch, $522 includes shipping and handling in continental US.
Blue and purple, Sedona, 11X14, oil on archivally-prepared Baltic birch, $869 unframed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Through Sedona Arts Center

The photos on the Sedona Arts Center website are dark; I’ve replaced them with my file photos where possible. If you want further pictures showing the paintings in daylight or details, contact JD Jensen.

Country Road, 14X18, oil on archival canvasboard, available through Sedona Arts Center. The color in this image is more accurate than that on the website.
The Fleeting Hand of Time, 11X14, oil on birch, available through Sedona Arts Center. This painting is lighter and brighter than the photo I have.
Peace, 8X16, available through Sedona Arts Center.
My Practice Cactus, 11X14, available through Sedona Arts Center. This painting is also lighter and brighter than the photo I have.
Poplars, 12X16, oil on archival canvasboard, available through Sedona Arts Center.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Art is not a luxury

Luristan bronze griffins, first millennium BC, Museum of Ancient Near East, Berlin courtesy Wolfgang Sauber.

The Torah describes Bezalel and his assistant, Aholiab, as having decorated the Tabernacle sometime between 1400 and 500 BCE. Polygnotus of Thasos, who worked in the mid-5th century BC, was a superstar in ancient Greece, as was his student Pheidias.

All of the original work of these men is now lost; we know nothing about it except copies and descriptions.

Before them, art was anonymous, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t made. Before homo sapiens were in Europe, their Neanderthal cousins were making art on the Iberian Peninsula. Prehistoric cave art is a human universal, found worldwide. Why?

Restored griffin fresco in the Throne Room, Palace of Knossos, Crete, original from Bronze Age. CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=179033

Enter the griffin

The griffin (or griffon) is a mythical beast with the body, tail, and back legs of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle. By the Middle Ages, it had assumed legendary status, but the oldest known depiction of a griffin is carved into slate on a cosmetics palette, c. 3300–3100 BC.

Because people in the Middle Ages could read and write, we more or less understand the medieval bestiary, including the legends of the griffin. For ancient Egyptians, Persians, Mesopotamians, Greeks, central Asians, etc., all of whom used the griffin symbol, its meaning is less clear. All cultures, apparently, saw them as supernaturally powerful. And they were thought to be real, if the accounts of ancient naturalists like Pliny the Elder and others are to be believed. The griffin lives on to this day in heraldry, logos and mascots. It meant something to an Egyptian makeup artist, to a feudal warlord, to the Victorian art theorist John Ruskin, and even to animators of Disney movies. Even concrete hasn’t lasted that long.

Medieval tapestry, Basel, c. 1450 CE.

Art tells the story of human history

The tabernacle and Polygnotus’ paintings may no longer exist, but much ancient art does. We may not know why the unnamed painters at Chauvet Cave painted animals, but there is no question that their art evokes a response in us. For one thing, it’s highly realistic, even when the animals it portrays are extinct.

I wrote on Monday that art history is the pictorial history of mankind. It is the most powerful and enduring record of human civilization, equaling the written word in recording the values, beliefs, emotions, and daily lives of people throughout history. And in general it’s more succinct.

In its narrowest sense, art is visual documentation, and we like to say that purpose has been rendered obsolete by photography. However, if you’ve ever tried to identify a plant, you know that a good botanical illustration is often more useful than a photograph.

More than that, art reflects the cultural, social, and political contexts of its time. It is rich in symbolism, experience, meaning and metaphor. Somehow those elements speak to us even when we can’t put what they say into words.

That is because art works in universal themes, such as love, grief, death, power, or vulnerability.

A statue of a griffin on the Basilica di S. Marco, Venice

Art is not a luxury

Art is no more of a luxury than civilization itself, for the two are deeply entwined. That’s why human culture has always supported art, and that’s one of the many stories the griffin tells us.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: questions for artists

Regrowth and regeneration (Borrow Pit #4), 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I’m finally heading home. Although I’ve been in the west for almost a month, it’s in the Hudson Valley that I’ve run into smoke from forest fires. Life can be odd at times.

I’ve been on the road for a month, which has meant lots of driving and painting punctuated by intense social situations. There are certain questions for artists that are asked at every event. Artists should know how to answer them; they’re the equivalent of our elevator pitch. Here are my answers; what are your answers to these questions for artists?

Eastern Manitoba River, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

How did you become interested in art? 

I’ve been drawing and painting since I could hold a crayon. It’s hard for me to separate art as an ‘interest’. (Most people start life drawing intensively but give it up in later childhood. I don’t know why.)

Art history is really just the pictorial reflection of human history, and I spend almost as much time thinking about it as I do in creating art.

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

What are your influences? 

As a young woman, I was influenced by the Northern European Renaissance, in particular, Albrecht Dürer. The Italian Renaissance was based on secular, classical ideals while the northerners emphasized realism and faith.

Today I think more about the Canadian Group of Seven and Australian Impressionism. Both have a passion for place, something shared with great American regional painters like Maynard Dixon, Edgar Payne and Grant Wood, among others.

What is your preferred medium? 

Whatever tool happens to be in my hand at the time. I carry a sketchbook around with me.

What are your goals? 

To continue to paint and teach as long as the body permits.

How do you define success? 

Being able to sleep at night.

What are your most valued skills?

An almost-indefatigable work ethic.

What is your favorite and least favorite aspect of being an artist? 

An art career indulges my independent spirit, but that same trait makes me sometimes work myself to exhaustion.

I’m intrepid, but the flip side of risk is occasional insecurity.

What do you wish you’d learned in school?

How to run a business. I’ve had to teach myself, and it was much more difficult than learning to paint.

What inspires you? 

The beauty of Creation. I used to be far more interested in humanity, but now I mostly think about how much we’re all gasping for untrammeled nature.

When is your favorite time to create? 

Morning.

How do you know when a piece is finished? 

I can’t stand thinking about it anymore.

What is the hardest part of creating a piece? 

Finding uninterrupted time. It’s shocking how much of my day is taken up with the business of art. I always have more ideas than I can execute.

How has your style changed over time?

I am no longer interested in faithfully rendering reality.

What is your point of view? 

My work here, and whatever talent I have, is a gift from God, and my job is to use it to the best of my ability.

How do you handle negative criticism? 

Badly; who doesn’t?

What have you learned from criticism? 

On reflection, I often have to admit that it was at least partly justified. On the other hand, although I believe there are immutable elements of design, there’s no reason to believe that the juror de jure has ever learned them. In the end, I take my own measure.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Canyon Color painting workshop, March 2025

Snoopy in Shadow (private collection), was painted during one of Sedona’s quicksilver mood changes last month.

“Any chance you will be doing a workshop out west this coming year? Somewhere nearer Colorado?” a reader (and prior workshop student) asked.

Well, yes, Miss S. I’ll be teaching Canyon Color for the Painter in Sedona, AZ, from March 10-14, 2025. This is designed to teach you to lead with color and create a color strategy before you pick up a brush. Of course, I’ll be talking about other things too, such as light, composition and brushwork.

The light in Sedona is amazing any time of day. This was dawn.

I know I told you only four workshops in 2025. I’m sorry I lied.

“You only wanted to teach four workshops in 2025,” my marketing guru, Laura, told me in exasperation. True, but last month’s plein air festival reminded me how much I love painting in Sedona. It is set within striking red rock formations, which are a major draw for visitors and painters alike. The vibrant red sandstone cliffs and spires, such as Cathedral Rock, Bell Rock, and Courthouse Butte, range from vermillion to yellow to orange to pink. They’re the result of millions of years of geological history and provide an unparalleled subject for painters.

I’ve work with the Sedona Arts Center for several years. It’s even more venerable than Barbie, having been founded in 1958. It’s an established regional hub for arts education. Plus, its staff is very nice, and very capable.

Tree Shadows (private collection), was painted in a grove of cottonwoods. Sedona always surprises.

“Would you teach a painting workshop in __________?”

That’s a question I’m asked several times a year. I’ll always consider it, but certain conditions have to be right or it never works.

“All painting is regional,” a well-known artist told me recently. That is still somewhat true even in the Age of Zoom. Although I’ve sold paintings in many countries and taught across the US, my collectors and students are still concentrated in the northeast. Teaching outside that area only works when there’s a strong support system in place.

Every painting workshop needs a stable base. I loved teaching from Jane Chapin’s ranch in New Mexico’s Santa Fe National Forest. That went into hiatus in 2021 because of car rental problems caused by COVID. Then the area was threatened by the catastrophic Hermit’s Peak fire of 2022. Those back-to-back problems knocked it from my schedule.

Everyone loves to paint in areas of great natural beauty. However, these places are generally outside civilization, which means they sometimes lack amenities. I’ve learned that accommodations, food and restrooms may not be important to me, but they are important to my painting workshop students. That’s why Sedona is such a treasure. It’s a city with all the usual attractions. It’s also within the Coconino National Forest, it has grasslands, chaparral, piney woods, and desert, and there are nearby cliff dwellings and other archeological remnants of the Sinagua people.

Hail over Coxcomb Rock, 8X10, oil on birch.

Sedona’s weather is nearly perfect, but even there I’ve experienced some shocking sleights of hand by Mother Nature. That’s when a classroom or studio to work in is invaluable.

Institutional backup is why I work with Schoodic Institute in Acadia National Park and Sedona Arts Center. It’s not just for a studio for rainy days; there are many ways in which an organization provides support to its teachers. The staff at the arts center will help you if you have questions about where to stay, eat, or buy supplies, for example.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Reflecting on my Arizona landscape paintings

Poplars, 12X16, oils on archival canvasboard, available through Sedona Arts Center.

Laura Martinez Bianco and I came independently to the same conclusion at the start of the 20th Annual Sedona Plein Air Festival: Sedona is so beautiful that it makes no sense to drive around looking for the ‘perfect’ view; there is a painting at every intersection.

The prior year, Ed Buonvecchio, Casey Cheuvront and I spent half a day edging our way up the terrible washboarding and washouts that are Schnebly Hill Road. It took so long we barely had time to paint. This year I didn’t want to spend that much time driving, especially since I’d just traveled 3000 miles from Maine.

Country Road, 14X18, oil on archival canvasboard. The color in this image is more accurate than that on the website.

With the exception of one interlude on the West Fork of Oak Creek, I stuck close to home. Since Laura was staying nearby and had made the same decision, we painted together, and had a lot more time than we would have otherwise.

Five of my paintings remain at Sedona Arts Center, where they’re available until the end of November. They’re part of a bigger show featuring work from most of the artists who participated in the plein air festival.

My Practice Cactus, 11X14, available through Sedona Arts Center.

My Arizona landscape paintings

Country Road is one of those rare paintings which perfectly pleases me. I’m happy with its simplicity and abstract shapes. Ed showed me a wetlands area, but I was underwhelmed. Instead, I focused on this dirt road with golden cottonwoods and long purple shadows.

My Practice Cactus was painted at a roadside pullout. Like all true cactuses, prickly pear cactuses are native to the Americas, but not where I live. I practice painting them every time I visit the southwest.

Peace, 8X16, available through Sedona Arts Center.

The Fleeting Hand of Time was painted over two sessions from Posse Grounds Park, so named because in the past it was a staging ground for the Sheriff’s posse. This is a conventional city park, but the views and trails are outstanding. At sundown, the shadows from Coffee Pot Rock reach across like fingers caressing their neighbors. However, they move very fast, necessitating more than one trip. The painting IRL is a bit lighter and more saturated than the photo.

Peace: My friend Bernadette told me that there were prayer flags along the trail near the Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park. Frankly, I was attracted to the bright colors fluttering among the piñons and junipers, but why not pray for peace while you’re painting in a peace park?

The Fleeting Hand of Time, 11X14, oil on birch, available through Sedona Arts Center.

Poplars and cottonwoods turn golden-yellow in the autumn, and they stand off beautifully against the red rocks and evergreens of Oak Creek Canyon. This painting interested me for its abstract qualities.

Why buy one of these paintings?

One of the most venerable arts organizations in the country, the Sedona Arts Center is committed to promoting local and regional artists, particularly Arizona landscape paintings. By purchasing art from the center, you’re supporting the creative community of Sedona and the twenty nationally-known artists who trekked to Arizona to paint.

In addition to selling art, SAC offers educational programs, workshops, and events that nurture both aspiring and established artists. Your purchase helps support these programs.

The pieces available through this show were inspired by Sedona’s famous red rock landscapes. They’re a visual narrative that holds meaning and connection to the land. And all the artists in this show are collectible, meaning that your painting will be a good long-term investment.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: can you paint in winter?

It was way below zero; the rough texture is because my oil paints froze; it was also cold enough for my battery to die. And of course I was out of cellphone range.

I’m being chased home to Maine by wind, rain and occasional snow; that means winter is just around the corner. Beginning plein air painters often wonder, can you paint in winter? Sure, if you take simple precautions.

Watercolor

Everyone knows that you can keep your paint water from freezing by adding vodka. The problem with vodka solutions isn’t getting the paint on the paper; it’s getting it to set up once it’s there. Alcohol evaporates faster than water. If you use vodka, expect softening as the painting warms up.

With watercolor in winter, you’re best off avoiding fine washes.

Ocean saltwater freezes at a 28.4°F. On a sunny winter day, that might be all the boost you need. The more salt you add, the lower the freezing temperature, but remember that salt is hygroscopic and changes the texture of watercolor paintings.

My palette and water basin are plastic, which cools more slowly than metal. Wrap them in an old scarf and slip a chemical handwarmer underneath. Bring hot water in a thermal flask and add it bit-by-bit to keep your water liquid. Don’t leave your brush standing wet in the cold; the bristles will freeze. If you can, keep them in your jacket pocket.

The problem with cold is not freezing so much as that nothing ever dries. Avoid sloppy wet washes and don’t overload your brush.

I was thinking of buying a cordless hair dryer, but Richard Sneary told me that in his opinion they’re not effective. “You’re better off getting in your car and turning up the heat,” he told me.

Of course, watercolor is compact enough that you can often paint from your car.

I was very grateful on this day for Eric Jacobsen’s wood fire.

Acrylics

The short answer is, just don’t. Acrylics need a minimum temperature of 50°F to cure properly. In extreme cold, acrylic paints become brittle and can crack.

Oils

The answer to “can you paint in winter” is always yes for oils.

While oil paint becomes stodgy as it gets colder, its linseed oil base doesn’t freeze until the temperature drops below -10°F. Odorless mineral spirits don’t freeze at all. That means oil paint can be handled through conditions that fox all other mediums.

I painted this years ago while waiting for my kid to finish swim practice. It’s long gone, but the photo always reminds me of that time.

Taking care of the artist

I hate cold feet and hands, so I wear insulated, waterproof snow boots when painting outdoors. Others stand on a scrap of carpet or cardboard. I slip handwarmers into the backs of my gloves. My buddy Eric Jacobsen carries around a small brazier in which he lights a scrap-wood fire.

I used to wear overalls, but they’re too cumbersome. Now I wear a waterproof, windproof jacket with layers underneath.

Consider working from a seated position. The closer you are to the ground, the less you’ll be buffeted by the wind. The best location is a sheltered, sunny corner. Work in short bursts to avoid hypothermia, and bring something hot to drink.

Winter is a great time to practice park-and-paint, but don’t forget to wear a high-vis vest and bring traffic cones.

Your car

I’ve killed my car battery in extreme cold, and I’ve gotten stuck in the slush on the side of the road. Inevitably, that happens when I’m out of cell phone range.

If you don’t already have one, get one of these little car starters and learn to use it. A high visability vest and traffic cones are important anytime you’re painting along the roadside, but especially in low-light situations.

Special online plein air show

Work from the 20th Annual Sedona Plein Air Festival is available in their special exhibits gallery and online here. I’ll have more to say on the subject later this week, but for now enjoy browsing!

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Great landscape painters

I’ve stopped to see Jane Chapin and Roger Gatewood on my way home from Sedona. They have an outstanding art collection; I contemplate it every time I visit. They’ve given me permission to share my favorite four paintings with you, which has somehow expanded to include 12 paintings by some great landscape painters. Thank you, Jane and Roger!

Bluffs of Rio Chama, 40X60, Clyde Aspevig. Your small device screen can’t capture the grandeur of this scene or its impeccable painting. Note how the foreground sage is a unifying design element.
Taos Pueblo, 16X20, Oscar Berninghaus. Nocturnes can be overwhelmingly dark, but Berninghaus exploits the hazy perception of twilight with low contrast. He went back to this subject again and again. The blue-green darkness quotes Frederic Remington’s nocturnes.
Study for Labourage Nivernais, 8X16, Rosa Bonheur. Bonheur was the most famous woman painter of her time, known for her paintings of animals. She did study after study for the final painting.
The Thaw at Mt. Rainier, 12X16, John Carlson. The simplification of form and value is lovely, as is the shape of the trees and how he allows them to break the frame. He’s one of America’s acknowledged great landscape painters for a reason.
Untitled landscape, 8X10, Len Chmiel. This is an abstraction reminiscent of Goya’s El Perro painting, or Wyeth’s Christina’s World. It’s all about that horizon line. Each of those huge shapes is composed of many hues, tightly tied in value.
Santa Fe Canyon, 24X30, Fremont Ellis. This painting is held together by the light shape of chalky green and tan in the foreground, which contrasts with the golden-yellow of the aspens.
California Colors, 12X16, Kevin Macpherson. This is maelstrom of brushwork and color. I love the negative space between the beautifully abstracted trees.
Sierra Lake, 27X34, Edgar Payne. With Payne, it’s all about the contrapuntal diagonals, big shapes and the lost-and-found edge.
Pueblo, 9X12, Sheldon Parsons. The blue in the background hills is anchored by the yellow-gold and peach in the foreground. It’s a great example of a split-complement color scheme.
Head of Golden Tears, 8X10, Carl Rungius. I love this for its loose brushwork and great color in the shadows.
Untitled, 14X20, Mian Situ. You can either have a lot of light punctuated by shadow, or a lot of shadow punctuated by light. This is another painting with great richness of hue in the shadow shapes.
Finally Home, 16X20, Jane Chapin. Jane’s two spaniels went walkabout and disappeared for weeks. This is a portrait she did when they finally returned home; it’s a narrative painting of deep affection and fabulous brushwork.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Above Cody on the South Fork

One of the things I wish I had time to paint this week.

Last year Jane Chapin sent me a video of a ranch hand chasing a grizzly. “Get out of here, bear!” he kept shouting, moving fast along with his blue-heeler behind the scurrying bear. I assumed the man was on horseback, but today he told me he’d been on foot. He was doctoring an injured calf when the bear showed up. That took guts, but what else could he do?

This young man has the dapper mustache of a 19th century derring-do on a surprisingly young face. “Are the bears hibernating now?” I asked him.

“They never truly hibernate,” he told me. I guess that’s a myth they tell easterners to keep us visiting Yellowstone National Park in winter.

White out conditions above Cody, WY. Sometimes being a cowboy sounds romantic; other times it just seems like hard, cold work.

Monday night, he told me, a grizzly was nosing around the garage where two mule deer are dressed and hanging (he’s also gotten an elk this year). How did he know? “Grizzlies smell like really strong wet dog.”

Hunters in the Snow, not the Pieter Bruegel the Elder version.

Are brown bears and grizzly bears the same?

I always thought so, but apparently grizzlies are a subspecies of brown bears, which exist in temperate regions worldwide. But North American brown bear means grizzly.

I’m along the south fork of the Shoshone River for a few days before I head east again. Yesterday’s storm was the first snow I’ve encountered this season. It was a wild temperature swing from the heat of Sedona last weekend.

The temperature here at the ranch is always lower than it is in Cody proper. Last winter when I was here the temperatures dipped below -30° F. That week, I saw wolves loping across the meadow; this week, a coyote sped across the road in front of me. Down by the river yesterday, I surprised a golden eagle.

It was cold and damp and oh, so beautiful along the South Fork of the Shoshone River.

We took a slow, slippery drive up the South Fork of the Shoshone River looking for bighorn sheep. They’re always elusive, but it’s elk season and hunters have perhaps pushed them farther up the slopes. A string of mules waited patiently near the river.

As dusk began to fall and the snow continued to blow, three of Jane’s horses made a rather silly break toward the ranch road. The youngest, Roscoe, reminds me powerfully of my last horse, who could be sly. As Roscoe thundered up behind Jane, my heart was in my throat. At the last moment, she swung under the split rail fence.

This is a telephoto shot because Jimmy (the guy with the long ears) is way far away.

Sadly, I only saw Jane’s donkey (who is a middle-aged gentleman) from a distance. He’s hanging out by the river with new pals. “Jimmy, Jimmy Stewart!” I called vainly into the wind.

Yes, I am tempted to paint with every twist in the road, and my kit is right here. However, my time here is fleeting, and new experiences and friendship are both precious. I can always paint tomorrow.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: put down that selfie stick

Laura Martinez-Bianco at our campsite at Mathers Point in the Grand Canyon. Yeah, she’s tired.

Laura Martinez-Bianco, my husband and I left Sedona Arts Center at 2:05 PM Saturday, heading toward Mathers Campground at the Grand Canyon. The last time I did this was with painting student Kamillah Ramos two years ago. I had a pretty good idea that we’d arrive just as the sun threw the last light onto the rim of the canyon, and so it proved.

For the past quarter century, the world’s beauty spots have been infested by digital photographers. I first saw this in 2008 at Phillip Island in Australia, where the evening march of the fairy penguins to their nests was obscured by tourists jostling to grab the perfect shot. “It happens every time,” my Aussie cousin told me.

Our campfire and tent. Thank goodness for places with little light pollution.

The selfie stick and influencer-wannabes have made this worse. At Mathers Point, we could have tried to thread through the selfie photographers, but instead we just stood at the rim. “Pity the poor people at home who have to look at those vacation photos,” my husband commented about one particularly obnoxious man. “Hundreds of views of the same guy’s face.”

There’s more to life than your smart phone and selfie stick

Prior to 2000, people shot photos on film, which was expensive. When I visited the Grand Canyon, Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park in 1992, we shot three rolls of 36 exposures, or 108 images. Much more time was spent seeing than shooting.

Photography is so easy that pictures have become more about sharing on the internet than as a record for posterity. You can’t really see natural beauty through the screen of your phone, and nobody else is that interested in your vacation pictures. Yes, digital pictures are ‘free,’ but if you’re always looking at the screen of your phone, they steal the experience.

Cell phones sometimes annoy me, but they are great at identifying plants. This is an agave, or so sayeth the internet.

Your camera is making a sucker out of you

Last month, when the aurora borealis was peaking in North America, several people told me, “I saw them, but they weren’t as bright as I thought.” That’s because our expectation has been shaped by cell-phone photography. (I grew up in the Great Lakes region, and I’ve seen them many times.)

People will say, “I took that without a filter!” Unless you’re savvy enough to override the controls on your cell phone, it is, essentially, a filter. The aurora borealis looked brilliant on the internet because cell-phone (and digital) cameras automatically adjusted the exposure.

Who says I can’t cook? Oh, right, I do. (Photo by Laura Martinez-Bianco)

How modern photography has changed painting

It’s easy to oversaturate digital photography, and high chroma looks great on a video screen. That is in turn pushing modern painting into higher saturation. I like it, but it’s no more natural than my eyebrows.

Put down the camera… and the brush

“Do you want to go out at dawn to paint?” Laura asked me on Sunday morning. I had a long drive ahead of me, and, alas, we had to tear down our camp before hitting the road.

“Besides,” I told her, “My eyes and brain are tired.” Including all the events, Sedona Plein Air is nine days long, after all. Just like photography, the act of painting changes how you look at the world around you. I needed a reset.

I then drove hundreds of miles across the Kaibab Plateau and then north on US 89 between Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park, before finally hooking up with the interstate system. Since I was behind the wheel, I didn’t take a single photograph, but I saw dusty blue vistas that stretched forever, snow on high peaks, magnificent yellow cottonwoods, and hoodoos and hillsides scoured by the wind. It’s one of the most fantastic drives in this country, and it’s printed in my memory in a way that cell phone photos just can’t touch.

Sometimes, you have to put the phone—and the paintbrush—down and take time to just look.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Things I noticed at Sedona Plein Air

A Road Less Traveled, Barbara Mulleneaux

Instead of looking at my paintings, I thought you might appreciate seeing some other work from the 20th Annual Sedona Plein Air Festival. This is hardly complete; some painters hadn’t hung much work before I shot these photos.

What interests me in painting? Color, composition, and a unique viewpoint. This is a smattering without critical analysis, but I hope you enjoy it.

Guillo, Barbara Tapp. Of course I love it; that’s my dog!
By the Lake, Hadley Rampton
Road to Adventure, Manon Sander
Enchanted Passage, Krystal Brown
Ain’t We Got Fun, Casey Cheuvront
Bruce Gomez
Laura Martinez-Bianco
Hai-Ou Hou
Breakfast, Tom Conner
Here is my wall of finished paintings. As you can see, I’ve encroached on Tom’s space. Tomorrow I’ll choose my three favorites for judging, and I’d love to hear your opinion.

By the way, all of these paintings are available through Sedona Arts Center, 928.282.3809.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025: