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Author: Carol L. Douglas

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Monday Morning Art School: how to figure things out

Lobster pound, 14X18, oil on canvas, $1594 framed includes shipping and handling within the continental US. I drove by the place where this used to be on Friday; it’s so depressing to see a new building, now empty and for sale.

I like living in an old house. It’s small and worn, but it’s also charming and durable. It’s only when I want to fix or replace something that it annoys. Nothing is straight. Some walls and ceilings are plaster-and-lath, some are drywall, and some are board. Channels have been cannibalized for water or power lines, so you’re never sure what you’ll find inside a wall. For most of our remit here, we’ve been able to hire professionals to experience those “oh, no,” moments. But not for this project.

This house was a classic New England farmhouse: a barn was attached to the main structure through a series of sheds. In the 1940s, the barn burned and took out the sheds and the kitchen ell. Charring can still be seen in the main section’s rafters.

Evening in the Garden, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

The owners replaced the barn with a detached garage on the same foundation. Other than a new service panel and new doors, it stands as built 80 years ago. It’s no straighter or less quirky than the house; it’s large and has a plank floor. My friend Ken DeWaard suggested I use part of it for a gallery. This year, I dived in.

Most artists are good with their hands as a matter of necessity. That can be a rabbit hole at times; for example; I’ve wasted lots of time and money in making frames when it’s just cheaper and faster to buy them.

But there are jobs you can’t get done in a timely way, and small construction projects are high on that list. My recently-retired husband is my helper. When I’m done, I’ll have a 20X11 space with new lighting to showcase my work. That’s just about the size of my former tent gallery but it will be much nicer.

This is where I got to as of Friday afternoon.

Some of these jobs, like building window frames, I’ve done before. Some are new to me, like rough-framing and hanging a door. For those I turn to YouTube. Watch five videos and you’ll see five different techniques, but common sense helps you sort them out.

Then there are the jobs that you won’t find on YouTube because there’s no audience for them. The back wall of my new space is removable like a stage set. At the same time, it should be as solid as a real wall, as it will have paintings hanging from it. I won’t take it down often, so a lightweight false wall seemed, well, cheesy. The whole thing is held onto a beam with a lot of lag bolts, and a couple of strong guys should be able to tear it down in an hour.

Can you take this approach with learning to paint?

Well, yes and no. There are lots of good how-to paint videos out there about specific techniques, like brushwork. Longer videos tend to be demos, which are fun to watch but not great at developing skills. Videos that deal with something I already know about are more useful than ones that deal with new concepts. For example, I watched several videos about stretch ceilings, but I still won’t try putting one up.

Last light at Cobequid Bay, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Just as nobody would mistake me for a master carpenter because I’ve built some things after watching YouTube videos, nobody is going to learn to be a master painter from watching how-to paint videos.

When people tell me, “I’m gonna take one of your workshops someday,” I sometimes feel like asking them if they think I’ll live forever. I’ve filmed the seventh and last of my how-to-paint interactive classes this spring. Unlike Zoom classes or workshops, they have the potential to keep teaching long after I’m gone, unlike how-to paint videos.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Home Farm

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

I’m off to an opening at the Red Barn Gallery in Port Clyde this afternoon (4-7 PM) If you want to join me, drive to the foot of Port Clyde Road, turn right on Cold Storage Road and it’s on your right.

This show focuses on barns, and three of my paintings are in it: a springy equipment shed in Warren, a bright red barn in New Brunswick, and the above Home Farm at Winterthur.

Having just returned from Britain, I’ve contemplated the 18th and 19th century estates that the du Pont family were copying when they dreamed up Winterthur. Winterthur started as a small Greek Revival mansion, expanded until it contained 175 rooms and more than 2600 acres of land, and is now a public museum. That’s the same trajectory as followed by many British Great Houses, except that their transit took hundreds of years, not a mere century.

Henry Francis du Pont was a shy, awkward man. After studying horticulture at Harvard (really), he came home to manage Winterthur. Although he was an autocrat in many ways, it’s to Henry Algernon du Pont’s credit that he didn’t force his only son into the shark-infested waters of early-20th-century business.

The younger du Pont styled himself a farmer, and became one of America’s premier breeders of Holstein Friesian dairy cows. But with 250 field employees, he didn’t have much in common with the typical American farmer of the early 20th century. That fellow and his family were doing grinding chores, often in terrible weather, and always one jump ahead of crop failure. In contrast, Du Pont was a gentleman farmer, insulated from disaster by his family’s wealth.

Winterthur’s estate was assembled by buying up a few dozen local farms. By 1925, the estate was raising turkeys, sheep, chickens, hogs, cows, vegetables and flowers. Winterthur also had greenhouses, a sawmill, a railroad station, and a post office. There were the show-stopping gardens and the du Ponts’ premier collection of Early American interiors.

The lovely stone house I painted above was the home of one of the farm managers. It is not the fanciest of the 90 outbuildings on the estate, but it’s my favorite. I imagine it is far pleasanter inside than the manor house, which is now our premier museum of American furniture and decorative arts. These artifacts, sometimes including whole rooms, were bought up and salvaged when nobody much cared about Early American design. That, rather than farming, was Henry Francis du Pont’s great contribution to our culture.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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How to pick a plein air location

Larky Morning at Rockport Harbor, 11X14, on linen, $869 unframed includes shipping in continental US.

I’m thinking about Camden on Canvas and an impractical location occurs to me. It’s a glacial erratic on Fernald’s Neck. It would be long hike with a large canvas and my gear (although not nearly as onerous as painting from the top of Bald Mountain. Even when I get there, I’ll be confounded by the composition, as it’s just a huge rock by the shore. However, it’s one of those subjects that always excites me when I see it, so this might be the year I do it.

Glacial erratic with my friend Marjean for scale.

The problem of choosing plein air locations is compounded when one is teaching or organizing an outing for a group. There are practical considerations that aren’t as important when I’m painting solo.

At Rest in Camden Harbor, 12X16, oil on birch, $1159 unframed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Here’s how I approach the question:

Does the view interest and inspire? That’s a moving target, but I look for places with interesting compositions and varied elements. That way there’s something for everyone.

How’s the lighting? I consider the time of day when it’s possible to be in that location. And, of course, at midday, I generally encourage people to down brushes and rest.

Is it accessible? This is far more important for a plein air class or an event where you have spectators than it is for solo painting. However, with big canvases come big equipment, and that’s where park-and-paint can be very helpful. There’s a famous location in Schoodic that’s now off-limits to groups. I never took mine there anyway; I judged it to be just too easy to tumble off that cliff.

American Eagle in Drydock, 12X16, $1159 unframed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Is the terrain negotiable? I don’t mean just for me, but for everyone in my plein air group. The best locations are ones where the agile can move out and explore, but others can paint from near their car.

Can painters set up chairs? I have a duff back, and I no longer stand to paint. I want a place I can sit, and where my students can set up chairs if they wish. There’s no shame in sitting to paint.

What’s the weather forecast? It behooves a plein air painter to know all the overhangs, bridges, gazebos and other places he or she can shelter from the weather. That includes the sun if it’s blistering hot as it will be this week. A contingency plan is a must. In Maine, mine is my own studio as a backup location. In other areas, it can be a rented hall.

Do you have permission? I will never forget being yelled at because other painters who were not part of my group had trespassed on private property. Make sure you have permission before you go on someone else’s land. One of the hidden costs of my Schoodic workshop at Acadia National Park is the required permit (and a hidden cost for all my workshops is insurance).

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

Leave no trace. If you brought it in, bring it out. Police your workstation before you leave.

Are there amenities? We all need restrooms, food, and water. While I can fend for myself, I need to be clear with students about their options before we arrive. There’s no Starbucks at Schoodic, and I hope there never will be.

Can I get help in the case of an emergency? If there’s no cell-phone reception, I want to be within minutes of a ranger or a road.

Can we get away from the crowds? In Maine (and other popular destinations) that’s not always possible, but I work hard to keep people out of the worst traffic jams. Some people like talking about painting, but others really want privacy in which to work.

Are there multiple points of interest? There are many plein air painting sites with one great view, but they’re inherently less interesting than those with a variety of points of interest. Is there depth, with distinctive features in the foreground, midground and background?

I spend a lot of time scouting in the area in which I paint (and teach), usually with sketchbook in hand. You should, too.

The four locations in today’s paintings are all places we’ll be painting during Painting in Paradise, here in Rockport.

Two openings this week:

Thursday, June 20, 2024, I’ll be at the Camden Art Walk, at Lone Pine Real Estate, 19 Elm Street, Camden, ME. That’s 5-7 PM, and the Art Walk is kind of a street party. It’s rather short notice, but I would love to see you there. Especially as my husband is threatening to bring his bass guitar and plunk away in the corner.

Friday, June 21, 2024, I’ll be at the Red Barn Gallery in Port Clyde, ME, from 4-7 PM for the opening reception of their first seasonal show, Barns. I’ll have three of them in the show, and my fantastically-gifted student Cassie Sano has taken my spot in the cooperative. I’m curious to see what she (and the rest of my friends there) is up to.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: miscible oils

Ever-Changing Camden Harbor, 24X36, oil on canvas, $3188 includes shipping and handling in continental US. This is one of the places I’ll be teaching in next month’s workshop.

Last week in my Color of Light class, the conversation turned to water-miscible oils.  I haven’t used them in years, and only to test them to see if they were a reasonable alternative to conventional oils (yes, although I don’t like their hand-feel). It’s your turn to teach me, and answer the question raised by my students: do miscible oils hold up over time?

Several of my students described problems with cracking, inner layers that didn’t cure, paint surfaces sticking to other things, or paint softening after varnishing with Krylon Kamar Varnish. “But the color is so much better when the painting is varnished,” said the person who’d used the Kamar.

Seafoam, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Since I’m a novice on the subject, I’m hoping that those of you with extensive experience with water-miscible oils can share that, good or bad

Kamar is, according to its material safety data sheet (MSDS), full of solvent. At least two of these—heptane and acetone—can dissolve oil paint, so I’m not shocked that Kamar could loosen up the surface of a painting. I’m no chemist and I’m not interested in reading MSDS for every spray varnish, but it makes sense that spray varnish needs plenty of solvent to be sprayable. On the other hand, I’ve used spray damar varnish on conventional oil paintings with no softening of the surface.

Apple Blossom Time, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US. Or, go see it at the Red Barn Gallery in Port Clyde this month.

Winsor & Newton makes a line of brush-on varnishes for their water-miscible oils, in matte, satin and gloss. I recommend my student try one of those.

Miscible oils are oil paints that are engineered to allow them to be thinned and cleaned up with water. The idea is to avoid using volatile organic compounds like turpentine, which are harmful when inhaled. A disclaimer, however: we haven’t been using turpentine as a solvent in this country in this century; it’s been replaced with odorless mineral spirits, or OMS. In a sense, miscible oils are fixing an obsolete problem.

The typical way of making oil and water mix is to add a surfactant. That’s how detergent works to remove oils from your clothes and dishes. For water-miscible oils, the end of the oil medium molecule is rejiggered to help it bind loosely to water molecules. The key here is loosely; you want the water to evaporate.

Sea Fog, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $696 unframed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

The top-tier oil paint manufacturers, such as Gamblin or Michael Harding, do not offer miscible oils. Rather, they have solvent-free systems for working with regular oils. To me that indicates that miscible oils cannot yet be made to the highest standards of oil paints. In fact, the biggest complaint I hear about miscible oils is that their pigment load is lower. I don’t have enough experience to answer this with authority. Do you?

The issue of paintings not setting up or cracking is far more serious. This may be a simple fat-over-lean question. (I think that’s why my Kamar-using student’s paintings were dull and lifeless in the first place.) Fat-over-lean is every bit as true for miscible oils as it is for conventional oils.

In addition, miscible oils can crack is too much water is used, for the same reason that acrylics degrade if excessively diluted. There must be enough medium present to form a bond.

That’s all I know about the subject, so I’d love to hear from you painters with experience with miscible oils: do you like them? What problems have you had with them? Do you have paintings a decade or more old, and if so, how is the finish holding up?

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Drying sails at Camden harbor

Drying Sails, 9X12, oil on canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I have paintings in Camden for the first time in several years. They’re at Lone Pine Real Estate at 19 Elm Street, which is a very good location indeed. Rachael Umstead, the owner, is one of my church buddies and the mother of two very entertaining boys. She and her staff have made a great success of the office. It’s downright swank, something I could never manage in a million years.

Camden harbor is a terrific place to paint boats, and I love bringing students there. You can get a hot dog (or something fishy) and a soda at Harbor Dogs, which has been there for more than 50 years. Ambience? None, if what you’re looking for is fine dining. I’m more inclined to sit in the sun and watch the schooners, the little kids fishing, and the ducks.

That painting under way.

It’s always fun to paint at the harbor after a stiff rain. Sailors will be busy bailing out their dinghies and raising sails to dry. That creates a lovely geometry of docks, sail and other boats.

I painted Drying Sails with my pal BjĂśrn Runquist. We were practicing our chip shots for Camden on Canvas, although I no longer remember why we felt that was necessary. I do remember that I encouraged BjĂśrn to paint one of the schooners, who waited until he was well underway and then dropped her frills. Sorry, BjĂśrn.

Another day, another iteration of the same subject. (Private collection.)

Camden harbor is one of the must-paint places for my students at my July workshop, which is right around the corner. If you’re considering it, you want to register soon, since it’s both close and nearly filled up. My other workshops are listed below.) And if you’re coming from out of town, email me and I’ll give you some suggestions about where to stay—the Maine coast fills up fast during the summer months.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Why I teach

Main Street, Owl’s Head, oil on archival canvasboard, $1623 includes shipping and handling in continental US. This is one of the places we go during our July workshop.

With some trepidation, I handed Monday’s Words and Pictures class over to my student Rebecca Bense. She led us in an impromptu neurographic art exercise. I know, love and trust Becky, but I’ve had enough therapy to be guarded about diving into my subconscious. By the end of the exercise, I thought it was a good way to dig deeper into the meaning of art. And, since I seemed to have drawn a hag-ridden self-portrait (below) I was startled by the result.

My first essay into neurographic art. I know it’s a self-portrait because of the corkscrew curl. Yikes.

Monday’s class is a very small group, and I’m teaching it because the content is important to me. If I used the customary pedagogical method and chased around questioning and critiquing, nobody would have a moment’s peace. Instead, I’m developing ideas with, rather than for, the class. It’s fantastic fun for me, and I think I’ll probably learn something new about teaching.

A teacher is first a learner

I didn’t really have mastery of my craft until I learned to break it down in discrete steps and describe it to others. After all, that is what school is all about: repeating what one has learned. Not every artist is a good teacher; I know some very fine painters who are inarticulate. But when teaching is going well, it’s a two-way street. I’m constantly surprised and amazed by what I learn from my students, as Monday’s class demonstrated.

Early Spring on Beech Hill, oil on canvasboard, Carol L. Douglas, 12X16, $1449 framed includes shipping in continental US. This is a favorite place to teach and paint.

 Why does anyone teach?

The obvious answer is that teaching provides a steadier income than just selling paintings, which can be a ‘canary in a coalmine’ career—great when the market is up, dismal when it’s down. But nobody survives teaching if their motivations don’t run deeper. “Because you like telling people what to do,” my smart-aleck daughter suggested. That’s probably partly true.

Good teaching is akin to preaching. They both require a belief in and passion for the subject. Building on that, you harness communication skills, technical ability, and human connection, but they’re all secondary to that passion.

Blueberry barrens, Clary Hill, oil on canvas, 24X36, $3985 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

True relationships

After a few decades of teaching and writing about painting, I’ve shared a lot about my life. My students have done the same. If a painter takes one of my online classes, they’re signing up for 18 hours of ensemble learning. If they take one of my workshops, it’s a full week. No, we’re not gossiping or chattering idly. We concentrate on painting, but that is a highly personal subject. We can’t help but make connections.

Although I once considered myself a private person, I’m now comfortable with this. For one thing, these days there’s very little anyone can blackmail me with.

Teaching has a long reach

I have students who have gone on to professional art careers. Some now teach, and some, like Cassie Sano, are successful writer-illustrators. Student Mark Gale works in an art program with homeless people in Austin, TX. Some, like architect Kamillah Ramos, will outlive me.

Like most artists, I went into art thinking I would make objects of lasting beauty. What if the actual product turned out to be future artists?

(I realize with a start that we’re within a month of my July workshop here in Rockport. If you’re considering it, you want to register soon, since it’s both close and nearly filled up. My other workshops are listed below.)

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: why art?

Spring Greens, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, $652 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Knowing why we do something helps us figure out how to do something. Today, I want to get down to the low-level programming of the art calling.

Why art?

I sometimes tell people that if I wasn’t a painter, I’d be a greeter at Wal-Mart. I no longer have conventional marketable skills. I’ve focused on painting for so long that everything else has fallen by the wayside.

That skirts around the real issue of what holds me here. I’m a visual thinker and a maker, and more than a bit didactic. The confluence of these can only be art.

Why are you compelled to create art? Your reasons will be different from mine, but are no less valid.

Apple Tree with Swing, 16X20, oil on archival canvasboard, $2029 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Has what you’re doing ever been done before?

Not only has what I do been done repeatedly, it continues to be done by many painters who are just as competent as me.

On the other hand, nobody is doing exactly what I’m doing, because nobody has the same combination of brushwork and worldview.

As much as we prize novelty, AI points out the danger of putting all our efforts into style. Style can be easily copied. Content can’t.

I could drill down and tell you how my painting varies from my peers’ in terms of focus, worldview, color, drafting and brushwork. That’s a helpful exercise, especially when I’m feeling low.

How is your work unique? If you can’t answer this, is it because you’re drafting in a mentor’s or a movement’s slipstream? If so, what are you going to do about that?

Fog over Whiteface Mountain, 11X14, $1087 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

How do you work?

I’m a big believer in routine. It frees me up to concentrate on work, and I believe the human brain settles down into productivity fastest when it works at the same time every day. Others have told me this is stultifying.

What is the work style that works best for you? Do you go on painting tears, or do you work methodically? Why does your system work for you?

What’s your ideal working environment?

Spaces like Francis Bacon’s studio make me agitated almost to the point of being physically ill. I need order to think. Tidying is, to me, a time when I let my subconscious mind resolve its confusions while my conscious mind does the important work of putting things away.

For others, this is unnecessarily proscriptive, and I know painters who never get past cleaning to do any work at all. What’s your ideal working environment?

Owl’s Head, 11X14, oil on archival canvasboard, $1087 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

What is your creative process?

For plein air, I look, do a value sketch, and then transfer that to my canvas. For studio work, I start with an idea in my sketchbook and repeatedly refine it. Only then come reference photos and the business on the canvas.

I’ve occasionally tried to mix this up by copying my pals’ work system, but that has never worked for me. (Nobody ever called me a good student, just a good teacher.)

Do you have a rock-solid process? Are you willing to change it up? Is your answer a function of how long you’ve been painting?

What do you want to think about next?

I think I’ll be perfectly content to paint landscapes until I die, but nobody can say that for sure. Right now, I’m interested in the nexus between words and pictures. If nothing comes of that, it’s no loss. I’ve tried a lot of things that haven’t panned out, and I always learn from them.

If you were going to expand your media or subject matter, what would you add?

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Come to Maine for the sea air

Home Port, 18X24,, $2318 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I arrived at home, finally, at 5:43 yesterday evening. I’ve been gone for a long time and been to a lot of places—to Manchester, Liverpool, Lancashire, Yorkshire, Edinburgh, Fife, and then home through Reykjavik and Boston. From there I went to Albany, NY, where I saw my family and collected my dog.

“Why don’t you move to Vermont?” my daughter asked me. (She knows I won’t return to New York.) I’m extremely touched that my kids want me nearby, but I love my life here in Rockport.

When I was in Fife, I could feel my sinuses open with the sea air; I felt as if I were home again, for at least a few hours.

It was unbearably hot and humid on Wednesday in the Hudson Valley, reminding me powerfully of one reason I left New York. It’s just as cold in upstate New York as in Maine in the winter, but summers here are so much nicer. It’s that sea air, which moderates temperatures.

Yesterday morning, however, I hiked to a waterfall along Hannacroix Creek, where I let the dogs romp in the stream while I swatted mosquitoes. That reminded me of just how beautiful New York is. It’s a study in contrasts and always leaves me feeling conflicted.

Waterfall on Hannacroix Creek in Greene County, NY.

I arrived home to a beautiful thick fog and mizzle. It was 59° F. and I could feel my dry skin relax and ease back into its usual healthy state. If you want to escape the heat of summer, I recommend Maine. (And if you paint, you can take one of my workshops.) If you have allergies, sea air is a balm.

I like Home Port for its view, but I also like its neighbor, a lovely lady whose house has figured in several of my paintings, including Forsythia at Three Chimneys. She’s what I aspire to be at her age: self-reliant and forthright.

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Five plein air challenges to make you a better painter

Lobster Wharf, 8X16, oil on archival linenboard, framed, $903 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Here are five plein air challenges that will help us all loosen up for the summer painting season. Enjoy!

1. Limited Palette Challenge

Objective: Use a limited palette of only three five colors plus white.

In oils (or other solid media:

In watercolor:

Benefits: This challenge forces us to focus on color mixing, understand color relationships, and create harmony in our paintings. It also helps improve our ability to convey light and atmosphere with a simplified color range.

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

2. Time Constraint Challenge

Objective: Complete a painting in under an hour. Then do the same subject again in under thirty minutes.

Benefits: Working quickly encourages decisive decisions and helps us capture the essence of the scene without overworking.

3. Different Times of Day Challenge

Objective: Paint the same scene at different times of the day (morning, midday, evening).

Benefits: This challenge enhances our observation skills and understanding of how light changes throughout the day. It teaches us to depict different lighting conditions, shadows, and atmospheric effects.

Brooding Skies, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, $522

4. Weather Conditions Challenge

Objective: Paint the same scene in sunny, rainy, and/or cloudy conditions. (As they say, if you don’t like the weather, wait fifteen minutes.)

Benefits: Painting under different weather conditions pushes us to adapt to the changing environment and learn to represent different atmospheres and moods.

“Thunder Bay Freighter,” Thunder Bay, Ontario

5. Same scene, different subjects

Objective: After choosing your view, paint two different studies focusing on two different subjects within that view. If there’s something in the view that you’d typically shy away from, try making it a focal point. (Except trash; nobody wants to look at trash.)

Benefits: This discourages us from trying to cram everything into a painting. It forces us to spend more time on composition.

Some quick tips for success

If you haven’t already done so, it’s time to set up your kit for summer. One of my resolutions for this year is to repack my kit every time I get home from a session, rather than fussing with it in the morning when I should be painting.

Spend time sitting with your scene before you start painting. The more you look, the better you’ll paint.

Consistency is key. The more you paint, the easier it gets. Don’t get discouraged; think of every painting, good or bad, as a learning opportunity.

Assuming all went well, I got back to Boston last night from my lovely, long, blister-inducing hike. Laura should still 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: how to clean your brushes

Two of my most visited posts are Sandy demonstrating how to fold a plastic bag and my Youtube video on how to clean your brushes. With the advent of plastic bag bans you may have other ways to deal with your plein air trash, but we all still need to clean our brushes.

It’s especially hard to keep oil painting brushes nice when you’re on the road. There’s seldom a utility sink available, and it’s not nice to repay your hosts by washing brushes in their kitchen sink. In a pinch, I shower with mine, since they’re usually no dirtier than I am. Sometimes I wrap them in plastic and hope for the best. And that best, after a week in a hot car, usually isn’t very good.

Leaving dirty brushes in a hot car is a crime against art.

A cardinal rule of brush care is to never let brushes stand on their bristles—in mineral spirits or water. That includes during painting. That’s one reason why a small, swinging solvent holder is a great idea—it tips over if you leave a brush in it.

Watercolor brushes

In general, watercolor brushes need to be rinsed when you’re done painting, shaped back into their proper form, then allowed to dry flat. They will dry just fine in a brush roll, but not in a sealed plastic container.

Pay particular attention to rinsing them if you paint with saltwater or use alcohol to prevent freezing.

Unless you’ve done something very silly, there’s never any reason to use soap; in fact, it’s not good for fine hair brushes.

One of the nicest gifts I’ve ever received was this set of Rosemary & Co. oil brushes.

Oil and acrylic brushes

For oils (and to a lesser degree, acrylics) brush care is serious business. It’s possible to clean acrylic paint out with running water alone, but soap won’t hurt hog bristle or synthetic brushes and it will save water.

Synthetic brushes are generally easier to clean than hog bristle brushes. This is the upside of synthetic brushes’ downside; they carry less pigment, so there’s less pigment to clean out.

Soap is not detergent.

Soap starts with a natural fat to which an alkali (like lye) is added. Detergents are synthetic cleaning compounds. They often have additional surfactants added to increase their oil-stripping qualities. Both allow oil to be lifted out with water, but soaps are gentler. That’s also why we don’t use detergent to wash our hair; it’s too good at removing oils.

Don’t leave brushes standing around dirty

The secret of brush-cleaning is to get to them fast. Get as many solids as you can out with mineral spirits; that will prevent clogging your sink. Thoroughly coat them with soap, inside and out, and wash them with a rag, not your bare hand. (Even the least-toxic of pigments shouldn’t be ground into your skin.) The brush is clean when the water runs clear, and not before.

If you left your brushes standing and they’ve started to harden up, detergent won’t work any better than soap at softening the mess. I sometimes pre-treat them with coconut oil when I can’t get the paint out. 

Don’t expect heavily-used brushes to last forever. They’re made of hair and they wear out. In fact, most of my filberts started life as flats. But by cleaning your brushes regularly, you’ll ensure that they will last as long as is possible.

Mary’s soap.

A plug for my daughter’s soap

My daughter Mary makes my brush soap. I offer it (in small batches) to my readers. Mary’s been offline as she prepped and sold her house, but she’s got her soap lab up and running again. You can order her soap here. “Your brush soap is seriously great. Better than Murphy’s or the pink stuff from Jerry’s. I can always ‘get a little more out’ with yours,” said my student, Mark Gale.

I’m in Britain on another lovely, long, blister-inducing hike. I’ve turned my phone off and while I’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: